


Nothing casual about us

by StormXPadme



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fisting, Anal Hook, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, Armor Kink, BDSM, Baby Legolas Greenleaf, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Birth Control, Bisexual Male Character, Blackmail, Blindfolds, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Body Paint, Body Worship, Bondage, Bonding, Broken Bones, Butt Plugs, CIP, Candles, Canonical Character Death, Casual Sex, Clone Sex, Cock Bondage, Cock Cages, Cock Piercing, Come Eating, Come Inflation, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Comfort Sex, Coming Untouched, Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, Corsetry, Council of Elrond, Crack, Cumshot, Cutting, Daddy Kink, Daggers, Deep throat, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dol Guldur, Doppelganger, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Drawing, Drunk Sex, Eggpreg, Elrond needs a vodka and a lobotomy, Elvenking's Halls, Enemas, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Figging, First Age, Flogging, Foot Jobs, Fourth Age, Frottage, Gags, Gondolin, Hair bondage, Healers, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, Ice Play, IceCubes, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inflation, Injury Recovery, Interspecies Sex, Japanese Rope Bondage, Knotting, Lap Dances, Lap Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Macro/Micro, Magic, Male Bonding, Marking, Marriage Proposal, Masochism, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Mind Sex, Mirkwood, Mirror Sex, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Torture, No Scat, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Object Insertion, Olfactophilia, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oviposition, Painting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Public Sex, Rimming, Rituals, Rivendell | Imladris, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Scars, Scarves, Scents & Smells, Second Age, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Service Kink, Service Submission, Sex Standing Up, Size Difference, Sleep Deprivation, Snowed In, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spitroasting, Spreader Bars, Suspension, Tattoos, Telepathic Bond, Temperature Play, Teratophilia, Third Age, Throne Sex, Training, Tree Sex, Underwater Sex, Valinor, Vegetables, Wax Play, Wedding Night, Weddings, Whipping, also no force, anal plug under clothes, asfaloth has seen too much, belly bulge, belly inflation, evil twin, glass dildo, irritating lube, not really tho, not really though unless you count valinor as extraterrestial, part time boyfriends with more issues than imladris daily, plugged in public, referenced sexual injury, stinging nettles, you can pry librarian!Erestor from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 77,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: Erestor and Glorfindel are in a casual sexual relationship. Or so they think. (Series of independent smutty oneshots)
Relationships: Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 193
Kudos: 209





	1. (Un)covered [tattoos]

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of independent Glorestor oneshots, based on a kink prompt list I created for myself using this: https://perchance.org/kinktober . I left out no 31 that was created in my list because it absolutely did not fit the rest of the tone of the fics. So I just pretended, this month had only 30 days :D.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: About TA 300

"I'm telling you, it's true!"

"You're _so_ full of it."

"But it is! They were all talking about it at the campfire. There must be _some_ truth to it …"

Cursing, Erestor straightened up, reluctantly wriggling out of Glorfindel's arms. Of _course_ , they couldn't enjoy a single evening of peace for once. Not in this age or in this place.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His lover got up from his knees just long enough to shove him back down over the table, until both their half-naked shapes were hidden by the waist-high balustrade again. Then his lips were back on Erestor's thigh, on his behind, his tongue drawing lazy circles on the sensitive flesh, still reddened from the extensive spanking Erestor had earned with a few too insolent remarks in the morning meeting.

"Stop it, Fin, we need to …" Erestor tried to bite back a moan, in vain, when the very same clever tongue found its way to his already spit-slick opening, the heat pooling in his groin making it hard to finish the sentence.

This was madness …. It had been risky enough, getting his bare ass disciplined on their balcony; everything else would have to wait until they were either inside, or the twins two stories below them stopped holding their damn evening tea out here now of all times.

"You know what the Lord said. More discretion ..." Groaning, he moved to reach back, meaning to push his lover away, but then that damn tongue was inside him again, thrusting into his too empty feeling hole, and he grabbed the edge of the table instead.

_Relax. And shut up. They won't hear._

His lover easily slipped into bond communication, unwilling to stop what he was doing for even a second. His hand sneaked around Erestor's body to fondle his painfully hard cock. A chuckle vibrated against Erestor's parted cheeks when Erestor stifled another groan in the sleeve of his tunic.

_What are they yapping on about anyway?_

_Damn if I know. They've been giggling all day._

And annoyingly disturbing Erestor's work in the library at that. But in spite of browsing all the shelves the twins had been busy with, he still had no idea what they had been looking for.

Right now, he had _other_ things on his mind than Lord Elrond's plague on four feet, but they were hard to ignore once you knew them close and apparently on their way to their next mischief.

Erestor made another weak attempt of moving things into a somewhat more private location … But that was when Glorfindel chose to rub that one, most unfair spot on the underside of his cock with one sensual fingertip, and he melted back against the wooden surface of the table again instead. With his tunic a bunched up mess around his chest and his breeches pooling somewhere around his ankles, he was being effectively kept from moving too much anyway.

_Do that again …_

If the twins realized they were interrupting something, they didn't mind half as much. Elladan's slightly higher pitched voice had that annoyed tone that usually announced, even he was getting fed up with his beloved twin's vivid imagination. "Have you learned nothing of what ada taught us? Elves can't get marks on their skin. We heal too quickly for that. How is that supposed to work? Besides, we would have seen it. We bathed at the fountains together a million times, 'Roh. Unless they have it somewhere _under_ their … Don't even _think_ about it."

This time, it was a unsexy chuckle, Erestor had to stifle in his sleeve, which earned him an offended slap to the crease of his thighs, a spot that was already sure to give him a hard time staying on his chair tomorrow.

Well, that solved the mystery at least, and Lord Elrond should give Erestor a medal for his foresight of hiding every book about inking and body art before the twins had made their first step ever into the library.

"There must be _some_ way! The captain heard, they had it done in some dubious Haradrim dwelling. They're probably just hiding it. I'm gonna find out. What do you think, what do they have?" Elrond's oldest heavily dropped on his chair, audibly annoyed and motivated at the same time, to get to the bottom of this. "The general surely has the Rayed Sun inked somewhere. But what about Erestor? I mean, what can possibly be so important for a librarian to have it branded on his body?"

Erestor was tempted to let out a treacherous loud, offended grunt, but Glorfindel decided, this was a good time to thrust his tongue inside him again and start fucking him with it in earnest. With his lover rimming him so deeply that his nose was tightly pressed against Erestor's skin, his jaw slamming into Erestor's heavy balls, he suddenly he was too busy, not biting through the fabric of his sleeve hard enough to draw blood.

_Oh, Eru … Don't stop …_

"Nothing, because this is nonsense, I told you. You're worse than the washerwomen and the stable hands." Elladan gave another exasperated sigh. "If you're so curious, why don't you just ask them? We're supposed to help Erestor reorganizing the history section tomorrow …."

" _Ask_. A Gondolin survivor who eats elflings for breakfast. No way." The apparently exceptionally frightening concept actually made it to shut Elrohir up for a few seconds.

Long enough for Erestor to desperately grab Glorfindel's hand and stop its movements, before he could either ruin their balcony table or involuntarily entertain the twins a lot more than campfire gossip ever would.

The relief that his lover actually obeyed and pulled his mouth away completely too, lasted only until Glorfindel brought his other hand up to Erestor's thoroughly slickened hole and thrust two fingers inside, hitting his prostate spot on and then just pressing _down_.

"Did you hear something?" It was probably only the twins' not yet fully developed elven senses that saved him from embarrassment.

And Elrohir's insatiable curiosity. "Nana's just moving furniture around again. I think I want to get inked too. What do you think, 'Dan? What would suit me?"

"I don't know, a copy of your brain? With two of them, you might actually start using one. Now, come inside. Ada's been calling for dinner for ten minutes."

"Laugh while you can. I'm telling you, I'll find out. And then you'll owe me two herb picking shifts. Next week, at the midnight bath …"

But how the twins planned on closely inspecting their naked bodies at said conventional event, Erestor thankfully didn't hear anymore, because the door closed behind them, and not a second later, Glorfindel had pulled him down on the floor.

They were both much too wound up for any further play, so Erestor already reached for Glorfindel's rock hard erection when he sank to his knees, with his back to his lover, and slowly impaled himself on it, wincing from the slight discomfort, moaning from the relief of too much tension finally slipping away. When he was flush against Glorfindel's body, he relished the soft burn of every single welt his lover had left on him before, and the beloved satisfaction that only having his lover buried deep inside of him could give him, all nosy Elven princelings and soldier gossip forgotten for the moment.

_Yes … Feels so good …_

_So tight and hot for me … I need to spank you more often before I take you …_

Glorfindel's lips were busy sucking and nibbling on the tip of his ear, the sensation sending more sparks of lust through Erestor's veins until he was rutting shamelessly against his lover's body, fucking himself on his length until they were both panting and groaning, any possible audience forgotten. Glorfindel chuckled against Erestor's ear and pushed his hair away from there, the tip of his tongue lingering against the fine deep black lines in the shape of his initial on the backside.

_We should do this again before that community bath, redden your pretty ass like that … Might as well give them something to see, since we're being so closely watched …_

"Fuck you," Erestor grumbled, too caught up in the growing heat to mind speak for a moment.

His hand buried possessively in Glorfindel's golden locks, he started to ride him in earnest, whining and gasping at the continuous assault on his ear, especially that still so very sensitive place that his lover kept on treating with needle and ink every few years to make sure the symbol there wasn't going anywhere.

_I would if that was possible, but that would leave you horribly bored, wouldn't it?_

Glorfindel whimpered and stiffened when Erestor tightened both his grip around his hair and the clench of his muscles around his throbbing length.

_Vain idiot._

Erestor had another not so nice name on his lips, but then Glorfindel's hand was back on his cock, and two strokes later, he was gone, spilling all over himself and the marble tiles they were kneeling on, and taking his lover with him with another especially hard thrusts of his hips against Glorfindel's loins.

Your _idiot, obviously._

Glorfindel shrugged nonchalantly and grinned, without much remorse, at Erestor's grimace when he carefully pulled away from him.

"Well, you're going to have to take care of that idiot of yours then. I'm not moving anymore tonight." Shuddering and wincing but fully sated and exhausted, Erestor nestled against his lover, his legs propped on Glorfindel's, and carefully threaded his fingertips through his lover's hair, straightening out the mess he'd just made.

A soft smile curled on his lips when he grazed the uneven stubble hidden at the base of Glorfindel's neck that would, in fact, have to meet a razor in the foreseeable future again, to remove what little hair grew in that particular little place. A place that for some reason had never fully healed. The inking there needed a refreshment as well. Leaning in closer, he kissed that spot where he had once left his own name to cover the living memory of the Balrog's deadly grip, right after his casual lover had come back to him. An elf in the shape of a barely kept together mess that Erestor had been entrusted with to heal, before they could face the new horrors in these realms side by side again, without the need for a deeper kind of bond that neither of them was ready for.

On days like these, when their biggest worry was not to get another lecture from the Lord, about being more discreet when screwing each other within an inch of their life, it sometimes felt like they weren't even doing so bad with that.

"So, are we showing them or what?"

"And miss the fun of two-hundred more years of them trying to figure it out? No way."

Glorfindel slowly let his eyes wander over Erestor's naked form, stopping at his midsection. "Though they did give me an idea or two where to hide another inking …"

" _Fin_ …"


	2. Dinner for two [flogging]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: flogging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: Third Age 3018

"Absolutely. Not." Erestor snorted. "You're not going, Glorfindel."

"Is that an order that I have missed the Lord giving, or your professional estimation as chief advisor?" Erestor might be slightly annoyed at this point. Glorfindel was _furious_.

And in a way, Erestor got it. That damn ring showing up again was an unpleasant surprise indeed; Erestor wasn't exactly comfortable with a merry band of civilians, psychotic wood elf Princes, rogues and bumblers carrying that thing through all of Middle-earth either, with Mithrandir as the only capable chaperone. That whole mission wasn't only a flame but a whole damn warning beacon for Glorfindel's helper syndrome to burn its wings on.

Which was exactly why Erestor would tie him to their bed, and not let him out until either this damn world was falling apart or things were back to normal.

Being stuck in Lord Elrond's office for a solid four hours after the last meeting had ended, was giving him a bigger headache than Mithrandir's dramatic black speech earlier.

"It's done, Glorfindel. The Fellowship is complete. You're not part of it."

Glorfindel seemed to have another remark about authorities ready. But since the Lord finally deemed it necessary to confirm Erestor's evaluation with a short nod, he only regarded Erestor with a growl that probably meant trouble for the rest of the night.

" _Why_? This is exactly the kind of mission I've been sent back for."

Elrond put his book down just long enough to massage the bridge of his nose. Those worrisome lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth had gotten a lot deeper in these tiring last few days. "This is a quest of secrecy, general."

"Your point being?" Glorfindel leaned against the desk with his arms crossed.

Elrond's brow rose up even higher on his forehead. "The Valar granted you a great set of gifts before returning you to us. Stealth isn't one of them."

"What is that even …?"

"It means that even if you dyed your hair and took those bells off Asfaloth's bridle, you're still a glowing sign of 'The ring is right here' on two legs. Besides … we need you here." The correction came just in time and still too late; this time, Erestor was the victim of Elrond's eyebrow of death. "With the threat from the east growing, Imladris will be besieged just like every other realm. Someone has to hold the defenses."

Since the Lord refused to comment on the situation further, Erestor turned to leave, ignoring the set of piercing blue eyes trying to stab him from behind. This had been the longest day of his life. Right now, all he wanted was a hot bath, some hillside herb tea to forget that ridiculous fight and not see or hear anything for at least one night. Especially no more talk about the end of the world.

They should have left when they had the chance.

Suspecting that Glorfindel would try and go another round with the Lord, Erestor startled when the door was stopped before he could close it behind him, and his lover passed him by closely enough to make him feel the heat of anger radiating from his body. And to hiss something into his ear that revealed, this argument was far from over.

"That was a mistake."

Feeling that certain forbidden warmth pooling in his mid-section that usually meant, there was a good chance he wouldn't be sitting down for the better part of tomorrow, Erestor sighed and turned to head for the pantries instead of their chambers. He had a funny feeling, he would need something stronger to get through this night than tea.

Erestor had expected either another ugly debate, or for Glorfindel to stay the evening out, spend some time with Mithrandir before sending his old friend off to a deadly mission. Or maybe icy silence over the late dinner he'd prepared, as a clumsy attempt of making amends …

What he had not expected was finding himself bent over said well-laid table an hour later, with one of his most expensive robe torn and cut in half, his arms and legs bound spread-eagle to the furniture, with one of the vegetables he'd so carefully prepared earlier buried inside of his well-oiled ass. Shifting uncomfortably, suppressing a needy moan when the end of that damn carrot pressed right against his most sensitive point once more, he tried to lift his head high enough to see where the hell Glorfindel had vanished to, what he was planning, but the ropes were too tight to move much. With the blood running too fast in his veins, his heavy breath and raging arousal betraying every curse and protest he'd just regarded his lover with, it was hard to concentrate on sound, even with elvish senses, or on a more casual then romantic and therefore quite unreliable mental bond.

Respectively loud was the shriek coming from his lips when a bundle of loose leather stripes hit his bare behind. It was a sting more than anything, but it had him startle enough to arch his back in a futile attempt to move away. The damn carrot didn't move with him but slipped from inside him so quickly, he would have lost it if it wasn't for Glorfindel's supernatural fast instincts catching it just in time and pushing it back where it belonged.

Erestor's pitiful moan and the even less fruitful attempt to push his hips back against the intrusion, to find a warmer touch then some lifeless object or his partner's sober preparation before, was rewarded with a bite on the spot of skin that still throbbed from the impact.

"You lose that again, you're getting twice the number of hits."

Erestor winced at the toneless sound of the first words Glorfindel spoke to him since entering their chambers. This wasn't his usual amused annoyance with Erestor's wit or his sharp tongue, that they equally enjoyed working off with a little adrenaline and their usual wrestle for dominance.

A cool rush of discomfort joined the shivers of arousal on Erestor’s arms. He only realized he'd started to writhe against his bonds again, when a still cool but very careful touch took hold of his wrist and loosened the knot just enough to pull the bunched up sleeve of Erestor's robe forward before tightening it again, the grey velvet protecting his skin from chafing. When Glorfindel repeated the same on Erestor's other wrist, he held his hand tight just for a moment, seeking his gaze, the slightest questioning frown on his brows.

A smile on his lips, Erestor relaxed his upper body back against the table and his arm into that iron hold. As long as his lover was as reluctant as ever about Erestor bruising himself on top of all the traces Glorfindel left on him in nights like this, he gladly accepted every single one of them.

"So? Want me to count or what?"

It was the slightest bit of peace offering on his part. He hadn't changed his mind about his lover going on this suicide mission, but they could both have been a little more civil about that; and Erestor knew how much his lover liked him to be vocal. It was one of the reasons, they kept on running into trouble with their neighbors about their slightly exhibitionistic streaks.

Instead of an answer, the next blow of that flogger hit the small of his back, with a lot more force.

Erestor tried very hard to remember in which rooms he had placed that Mirkwood delegation, and if the walls were thick enough. He really wasn't keen on the best archer on Middle-earth storming in here to try and save his honor or something. He could just hope that Estel had warned them about certain noises being normal at night in these halls. Because for once, and when he really wished for one, Glorfindel didn't seem willing to bring one of their gags into the game.

"Tell me why you don't want me to go."

Three medium-strong hits to his right ass cheek, quick and on precisely the same spot, deepening the first welts before they had even really formed.

It took Erestor a moment to recover enough from the hardly held back moans of both pleasure and pain, to notice a warning feather-light tap of thin, dangling leather on his other cheek. And to really process his lover's last request. He was supposed to talk then after all; but this, for once, wasn't about how much he could take. At least not physically.

"I already told you."

Another blow, not to that left, virgin cheek, but again to that already sore feeling spot on the other side.

Erestor howled and clenched his hands around the wood they were tied to, blinking sweat from his eyes, and the watering from that uncomfortable burn spreading on his skin.

He only realized he'd been close to lose the improvised toy again when it was pushed back into place once more, shallow, irregular thrusts into his quivering channel that quickly had him back on the edge. With his erection trapped between his body and the rough surface of the tablecloth, he couldn't get any real satisfaction out of the heat pulsating in his loins; but it was enough to make him forget the question again. At least until the reflection of Glorfindel's bulky shape that the flames threw on the wall, let him know, his lover raised his hand with that flogger again.

"They would see you coming from the moon. You know that."

"I do." This time it _was_ the left side of his ass assaulted with three merciless blows in a row, a high-pitched snap against formerly unmarked, soft tenderness, so quickly that after a few seconds only, Erestor could feel the numerous welts rising on his skin, the flames of agony and lust spreading right into his groin.

When the table trembled under his useless, instinctive rearing up against his bonds, Glorfindel stepped close enough to keep him down with his hand heavily pressed to his back. And to let him feel his own arousal nudging against Erestor's thigh, still covered by the rough leather of his breeches.

"Tell me why _you_ don't want me to go."

"You're needed here. The soldiers …"

The breathless roughness of his words got lost in groan at another unexpected blow right between his widely spread legs. At the last moment, Glorfindel cushioned it, taking most of his considerable strength out of it, so the end of those evil bundled leather stripes only grazed Erestor's uncomfortably exposed balls. But it was enough to both make him shut up and shudder in a mixture of helpless, deprived lust and fearful anticipation.

Right. They'd been through _that_ in Elrond's office.

And he knew a last warning when he got one.

" _I_ need you. When they don't make it, when we lose … I want you here."

"Why?" It was less the now much softer tone in his lover's voice that took the worst of painful tension out of Erestor's shoulders, than the sound of that damn whip carelessly dropped to the ground. Finally, the well-known, hasty rustling of leather followed, before Glorfindel stepped between his trembling thighs, slowly rubbing his steel hard length against Erestor’s slicked, quivering hole. That carrot had long fallen to the floor, but his lover didn't seem in a particular punishing mood anymore. He only wanted to _know_.

And if the likely end of the world wasn't a time to tell him, then when?

"I want to be with you this time when you die. When _we_ die."

Erestor let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan, pushing against the throbbing length slowly impaling him. With his lower body pinned to the unforgiving surface like that, every agonizing inch was just as much pleasurable pain as the bruises and welts on his ass stinging from every of Glorfindel's slow, firm thrusts.

_Please …_

Actually, he felt far too much gone to mind speak already, but his lover seemed to have heard him anyway, because he pulled away from him before Erestor could really try to enjoy what they were doing. The cold deadliness of steel danced along his wrists and ankles for a moment, then Glorfindel lifted him in his arms to turn him around and sit him down on the table. Their lips melted in a desperate kiss, teeth clacking, tongues wrestling, moans drowning between greedy licks and nibbles as his lover buried himself deep inside him again, with Erestor's legs wrapped around his waist.

_Tell me._

Glorfindel's hands firmly grabbed his bruised ass, his voice in Erestor's head no longer ordering but pleading. His tongue thrusting in his open mouth in the rhythm of his hips silenced Erestor's whimpers that quickly turned from new discomfort to nothing but keen arousal as he was writhing against Glorfindel, searching the promising touch against his prostate with every of his lover's move.

_Need you … Can't lose you._

A few well-adjusted movements of his lover later, Erestor wailed and came over both of their half-naked bodies. He offered his lover his exhausted body to find release for his own lust, just like he'd offered himself for Glorfindel to find release for his anger and helplessness before, clinging to him with the last strength the last days and hours had left him with. He pretended not to feel that the salt falling onto his neck wasn't sweat.

Only later, when they were huddled up at their favorite spot by the fireplace and Glorfindel was finished treating the welts on Erestor's skin with healing lotion, his lover brought himself to say what was really going on in him, what no threat and no lashing could have coaxed out of _him_. For that, it had needed a little more emotion than they usually allowed themselves to get lost in.

"I can't lose you either, Erestor. That's why I need to go. Why won't you people let me save this world for you?"

"You can't save everyone, Fin. Not this time." Erestor gently took Glorfindel's tearstained face between his hands and kissed the salt from his lips, then pulled him back down on the fur and kept him close to his chest, kept him turned away from the flames, from the memory, from the fear, until his lover fell asleep for the first time in over a week.

Sometimes, that was all he could do to keep them both afloat.


	3. Enough for you [mirror sex]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Mirror sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: around Third Age 3000;
> 
> Beta: AndiiErestor; go check her Glorestor stories, they're beautiful!;
> 
> The version of Erestor in this chapter is suffering from a condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, just like he does in my long "Tales Untold"-series, meaning he has a very low sensation of pain and often doesn't even realize that he is injured. Since elves in canon usually don't get sicknesses, in my series it turns out at some point that it's psychosomatic, but that subject isn't touched any further here (there's a lot of other touching tho).

Glorfindel had been patient long enough.

For one and a half ages, he had been putting up with Erestor's increasing grumpiness, cynicism and bitterness. He had apologized for him countless times and even kept a few annoyed soldiers from starting a fight with the Noldo who weighed an estimated 50 pounds soaking wet. All the while hoping that his best friend and casual lover would come to his senses at some point, and accept that except for war emergencies in which a surprisingly quick and very lethal blade-collection-on-two-legs often became useful, his place was not in battle.

Instead, it only seemed to be getting worse by the day. With war around the corner once more, the ranks of new soldiers were filling quickly, and Glorfindel grew tired of discussing every night why he didn't want to see his lover among them.

Especially since the Lord and the valley now more than ever needed Erestor right where he was. They simply couldn't afford losing a wickedly clever mind and ages of knowledge deeper than all the books in Erestor's library, to an orc blade. Sure, if Glorfindel had ever suspected, Erestor hated where fate had placed him, he would have been the first to give the guy a sandwich and train some more muscle onto that body. But the truth was that his lover knew his strengths exactly and had a huge thing for being the smartest person in the room. He just thought it didn't suffice; that he would never matter as much as the warriors guarding the borders. Especially not to his lover.

Time to prove him wrong, before he did something really stupid.

Glorfindel went about it carefully because Erestor was a notoriously difficult pupil and shut down on principal when he realized his lover tried to make him face his weaknesses. Maybe it wasn't completely fair, turning one of their nights into a therapy session, but Erestor could always signal him to stop if he really wanted to.

Besides, Glorfindel was pretty sure, Erestor would take his revenge when next he had Glorfindel tied down over his library desk and conveniently forgot that Glorfindel really didn't like having his family in his last life being brought up. They complemented each other frustratingly well like that.

For now, it was his turn.

He didn't plan to cuff his lover out of the blue, because cornering him usually made things worse, not better. Instead, he told the Lord, they would both not be available for a day or two and delegated the training for the day to his substitute.

He then awaited Erestor, in what was more their common chambers than Erestor's own by now, with dinner ready.

Even with having a few thousand years on him, Glorfindel still sucked at cooking but Erestor was nice enough to empty at least half of the plate before he changed seats and thanked him with a sweet kiss for his efforts. When Glorfindel gently buried both hands in his hair and pulled him closer, Erestor moaned softly and shuddered, melting his body closer against Glorfindel's until they were both hard, and dinner was forgotten.

Erestor's shoulders were tense after another day of having his nose stuck in books with all kind of stories about the Dark Lord and training his close combat skills behind some dark shelf. A new bruise covered his arm all the way down to his elbow that Glorfindel spotted immediately when Erestor impatiently shook off his tunic but didn't comment on.

This was exactly what this evening was about, but he couldn't let Erestor in on that too early. Or that yearning for affection and escape would turn quicker into an aggressive wrestle for dominance than one could say, deep throat blow job.

Instead, Glorfindel lifted his lover in his arms and carried him to their bed where the toy was already waiting that he'd laid out earlier. Just as planned, the sight seemed to distract Erestor enough to not pay much attention to the dark curtain Glorfindel had installed on the opposite wall of the bed in the afternoon. He could feel Erestor's half-naked form shudder against his chest and gently nibbled on the tip on his ear, smiling when his lover whimpered, his hips bucking up into nothing. No, there was no need to fight about who would be on the receiving end today; the day full of endless debates in Elrond's office had been too long for that.

Glorfindel made quick work of the rest of their clothes and then set his focus to massaging every single knot and tension out of Erestor's snow-white, flawless back. By the time his oil-covered hands reached the small of his back, his lover was a moaning, shivering but very pliant mess who didn't need more than a gentle nudge against the back of his knees to raise his well-shaped ass in the air, his head resting on his crossed arms.

Glorfindel did his best to not betray that unreserved trust, taking his sweet time opening his lover up for what he was planning for him tonight. First, with slowly probing, deeply thrusting fingertips, only scissoring the tight passage open when he could feel the muscles give in. Erestor's unusual inherent condition might make him numb to most pain, which was exactly why Glorfindel couldn't risk taking him with him out there, but for the very same reason, he had no intention of ever leaving any unwanted traces on his lover that could be avoided, even if it was only a little discomfort.

After all these centuries in his bed, fortunately, Erestor understood that and didn't try urge him on. He just whimpered his need into his sweat-shining arms and sobbed in relief when Glorfindel finally breached his loosened hole with the rigid wool stuffed phallus that Glorfindel had crafted a few decades ago. Not too thick but remarkably long, it was what he usually used when he wanted to ride his lover into oblivion and make Erestor feel himself deeply stimulated all the way up to his guts at the same time.

Today, that wasn't exactly what he had in mind. But that, his lover only realized when the toy finally was all the way inside of him, the leather straps protruding from the base wrapped securely around his waist and thighs, and Glorfindel reached for the oil again instead of turning him on his back.

"What …?"

The hoarse, breathless sound in this usually so composed voice sent dangerous heat throbbing through Glorfindel's cock. He had to grab himself with a little grimace to prevent an early end of this game. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on Erestor's back while he caught sight of dark lust-clouded eyes, a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Relax. You can take a little more, right?"

"I can take whatever you ask of me. It's _you_ who keeps forgetting that."

And there it was, the edge that had been poisoning the air between them for years now. That had Erestor come back from so many afternoons and days out alone in the wild with countless bruises and cuts, and so far, Glorfindel hadn't found out whom he kept on persuading to train him.

Well, after tonight, hopefully he wouldn't have to try anymore. He gave a nonchalant shrug and poured a next handful of oil directly on his lover's slightly reddened hole, so beautifully stretched around the end of the phallus. First, he just massaged it into the sensitive skin until it twitched and yielded under his fingertips, then he slid one of them in alongside the toy's smooth leather surface. Erestor's quiet whine had him pause, but the tightening muscles immediately gave away again, and Glorfindel decided, it was a sound of overstimulation more than anything.

Still he went very slow, circling his finger gently around the intruder in his lover's behind until it nudged the small, built-in ring the straps were fastened too, and then back counterclockwise. When he did it again, he could go deeper, listening closely to every one of Erestor's loud moans, his free hand lightly stroking his lover's length. It wasn't too long before he could push a second finger in, both of them lingering above the toy now. When Erestor's uneven breath slowed down a little, he suddenly pressed down, and his lover wailed, pushing his trembling hips against Glorfindel's hand, Erestor's cock desperately straining against the thin leather straps that Glorfindel had wisely put on before starting on that massage.

"More …" By now, his lover had obviously understood where this was going and sounded as impatient as usual about the idea of such an intense new game. But there was also the smallest tremble in his voice that revealed not only arousal.

Glorfindel pressed gentle kisses to Erestor's behind, to his tailbone, alternated between fondling his overstimulated cock and balls and twisting the thin Mithril rings in his nipples while he slowly thrust his fingers in and out alongside the toy, just occasionally giving it the nudge that had it press right against Erestor's prostate. After one especially firm push that had Erestor scream out his name, Glorfindel used the moment when the quivering muscle released once more and tried a third finger.

It didn't feel like it would fit at first, and Erestor went suspiciously silent for a moment, his breath knocked out of him. But then his body accommodated once more, and he pushed back against Glorfindel violently.

"Please … need you …"

And that was exactly the word Glorfindel had been waiting for. Carefully pulling his hand back, he murmured soothing words to his lover, told him to get on his knees, then he stood up just long enough to pull that curtain aside, revealing the huge mirror he had hung up on the wall while Erestor had been working.

For a moment, he was certain his lover would tell him to veil it again or to get the fuck out of his – _their_ – bedroom, but just as hoped, Erestor was way too far gone at this point to mind. He just glared at him for a moment, then reached out to pull Glorfindel back down beside him, moving to straddle him. An annoyed, questioning growl came from his lips when Glorfindel stopped him.

" _What_?"

"Turn around. I want to see us both."

Glorfindel felt Erestor's new reluctance and bribed him with soft licks around his nipple rings, his thumb flickering over the precum-stained tip of Erestor's cock, one fingertip playing with the end of the straps around the base. A promise and a threat at the same time.

"Vain bastard." Erestor chuckled breathlessly, his eyes darkened with lust.

It _was_ a tight fit. The impossible feeling of the stretch even provoked Erestors low pain sensation as he tried to lower himself on Glorfindel's cock. But when Glorfindel grabbed his hips to stop him in worry, an impatient, disapproving grunt came from his lips. He willed his muscles to relax, one hand reaching back to tightly grab Glorfindel's hair, the other guiding his cock to his fluttering rim once more. Inch by painstakingly slow inch, he took him in, until he was finally flush against Glorfindel's larger, stronger body, their shapes in the reflection a beautiful contrast of white and sun-tanned, of gold and black, Erestor's head heavily resting on Glorfindel's shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut.

" _Valar_ …"

"I have you. Relax …"

Glorfindel sucked that special place between neck and shoulder between his teeth that he had memorized as being most sensitive ages ago, and grinned when Erestor bucked, moaning and whimpering. His fingertips were back on his slightly swollen nipples, pinching and pulling on the sensitive skin, massaging the piercings where they were buried inside the tender flesh until his lover started to thrust his hips against him, overwhelmed, torn apart by the desire wrecking his body.

Only now, he softly prompted Erestor to raise his head again.

Look _. Look at us._

With them being so utterly close, even without the need for a real romantic bond that they had both always refused to enter, Glorfindel easily switched to mental language, his lips still busy sucking and nibbling on tender pale skin, but his eyes met Erestor's immediately when his lover could bring himself to follow the order.

Erestor gasped, wide-eyed and clenched down on him violently, and it was all Glorfindel could do to not to spill into him immediately. Not yet. He wanted to enjoy the sight for a while longer of his lover's slender silhouette impaled against his, his flaming hot hole filled with nearly more than it could take, stuffed so full that the outlines of the toy were clearly visible against Erestor's lower body.

_Fin …_

_This is how I see you._

He started slowly, once more.

Glorfindel traced every curve, every ridge of this lithe, softly toned body, with his fingertips only, from the straining hard muscles in Erestor's thighs to calves shaped keenly by millennia of riding and walking. The sublime curve of his behind. His deadly strong hands now clenched so tightly on Glorfindel's thighs that it hurt. Thin but sufficiently muscled arms that Glorfindel had seen knock down a shelf in frustration more often than he cared to count. The small waist he'd fallen in love with when his lover had undressed for him for the first time, merging into a surprisingly broad torso that spoke of even more sword and bow training in the last few years than Glorfindel had noticed.

He could live with that, as long as Erestor stopped trying to throw himself into the next available battle, just to prove something no one demanded of him.

_It's not enough. It's never enough._

Tears gleamed in the weak candle light when Erestor turned his head away to capture Glorfindel's lips in a searing kiss, turning to the only anchor that grounded him in moments of such profound resignation.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms tightly around him and carefully thrust up into this maddening tightness, moaning shamelessly into Erestor's mouth, his fingertips playfully nudging the toy through his skin, through his flesh until Erestor cried out and pleaded mindlessly for release in his mind.

But he didn't give in, not yet. He couldn't let go of this chance now.

_It is for me. It always was. Can't you see that?_

Only when he felt his lover turn his gaze back to the mirror, in careful, confused surprise and curiosity, Glorfindel quickly undid the straps around his erection and gave his cock two quick, strong pumps. That was all it took. With a scream too big to squeeze itself through his vocal cords, Erestor came over his fist, tightening up so violently around Glorfindel's cock that he emptied himself inside of his lover immediately. For once, Glorfindel held back neither the uncontrolled high-pitched moans from his lips nor the strained grimace of pure lust on his face, he just let Erestor's attractive, resilient body pull him through one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

When his lover finally pulled away from him, they were both sore, but at least Erestor didn't try to break or throw out that mirror, that was more than Glorfindel could have hoped for. They ended up an entangled heap on the mattress when all straps and toys were gone, and Erestor watched, silently, as Glorfindel took care of that bruise on his arm with what small healing power he had in him after that exhausting ride; merely an afterthought really.

"You know, I can take care of myself, right? You should. It was you who trained me. I can learn to keep to my limits."

"I've trained many of the soldiers that we'll lose once Sauron rises again," Glorfindel answered softly. "War doesn't take the weakest, Erestor. Only those in the wrong place at the wrong time. And someone about to bleed out without even knowing it, ends up in the wrong places very quickly. I can't stop you if you want to trade your library for the armory. I just wish you'd realize you don't _have_ to. Not unless this world does indeed end this time and we'll all be out there rather dying holding our swords than in Sauron's dungeons."

"What if I told you, all I ever wanted was for you to keep a sword for me ready on that day?" It could be the flickering candle light… Or maybe it wasn't just drying sweat itching on Glorfindel's skin when Erestor lowered his head to rest on his chest, watching them both for a moment in the reflection before he finally closed his eyes. It didn't matter.

Glorfindel lowered his head to kiss the top of his head and once more pushed away a longing for something that in the long run, would only have hurt both of them. In another place, another time, maybe.

"Then I would tell you, it is already waiting in my chambers for you."

Erestor smiled.


	4. No way out [wax play]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Wax play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: somewhere in the Third Age;

"If you can't keep still, I will have to make sure you do."

Erestor looked up from his book with a dramatic sigh. He hadn't read more than five pages and frankly had no idea what the whole thing even was about. And definitely not only because the movement of his very … innovative new candle holder caused a constant flickering of the shadows on the wall. Reading wasn't the point here.

Glorfindel let out a protesting whine but tried to hold still again, folding his cuffed hands behind his back, and lowered his upper body to achieve the angle Erestor had demanded of him at the beginning of this night.

"Good boy." Erestor made sure to let his lover hear the smile on his lips. They both had a thing for praise, especially when one of their kinkier nights had started out as an argument earlier.

Then he went back to his studies. This time, he came as far as twenty pages before realizing, he still had no idea what the heck the author was talking about. He just wasn't used to working in his chambers; in the last centuries, the library had become his home more and more. But while Glorfindel and him didn't mind a little audience – which mostly happened, when people weren't fast enough to leave after walking in on them –, there were certain views reserved exclusively for him.

His casual lover being buck-ass naked, handcuffed and forced to stay still by a spreader bar between his strong thighs, so he couldn't close his legs to protect his exposed balls from the danger of hot wax, was definitely among those. The regained angle, so deep that Glorfindel's tightly braided golden hair was dangling to the floor, caused the wax from four thin white candles Erestor had slipped into his behind earlier, to run freely again. Most of it hardened on the candles, or fell to the polished wooden ground that would need a good scrubbing tomorrow. But a few stray drops found their way to Glorfindel's tightly bound balls, which was eliciting a high-pitched moan from him every time.

A sound that went straight to Erestor's cock. He had to open his breeches with one trembling hand and shift his position on his favorite armchair, before he could pretend to concentrate on that work about rare animal life diseases again that the Lord had asked him to look into.

"Hush now. Half an hour left."

The time limit had been Erestor's condition, and for the case that any of those candles would burn down faster than expected, he was being close enough to blow them out before they would touch Glorfindel's tanned skin. The agitation wouldn't go away though. The whole thing had been his lover's idea, funnily enough. Erestor wouldn't have thought of it himself, knowing very well about Glorfindel's dislike of anything regarding open fire.

But his lover had insisted that candles were different when Erestor had asked him how he planned to make up for nearly jumping off a damn cliff in that battle up in the mountains yesterday. Candles meant light to him, warmth, hope. And the shallow burns this punishment was leaving, would heal before all this would even be over.

His lover probably just had not calculated Erestor's very vivid fantasy when it came to placing his lover in compromising positions to shut him up for a while.

That next drop of swiftly cooling white seemed to hit an especially painful spot, because Glorfindel straightened up again with a howl. The candles threatened to slip from their quivering tight nest.

Getting up in a flash, Erestor caught them just in time and gently pushed them back, slowly fucking his lover with the improvised wax phallus, cautious to get none of the four flames too close to either his own hand or Glorfindel's skin.

"Now, what did I tell you?"

"Sorry," Glorfindel murmured breathlessly. It didn't sound like he was awfully sorry.

With Erestor touching him so unexpectedly, his free hand busy kneading and twisting his nipples into hardness, he probably thought the game was over already, even threw a provocative look back over his shoulder when he bent down deeply again, his stretched hole tightening around the intruders.

"Nice try."

Erestor regarded one of his ass cheeks with a tight slap, causing his lover to clench up even more, to moan in pleasure when the candles rubbed against all the right places inside of him. Another yelp followed when more wax dripped onto his slightly swinging balls. When Glorfindel tried to straighten up this time, Erestor held him down with his hand firmly pressed to his exposed neck.

"No."

Invisible for his lover, he had already the toys in the pockets of his tunic ready that he had prepared for this case. With swift movements, he fastened two tightly wired metal clamps to Glorfindel's pebbled nipples, pressing soothing kisses to his lover's side and neck when Glorfindel groaned from the agonizing new sensation. Ignoring the arousing noise of both pain and pleasure, Erestor fastened the thin chains he'd also brought to the clamps and looped them around the spreader bar. Tentatively pulling on them, he forced his lover to bend over further, his shoulders and head now braced against the wall to help him keep his balance, and then fastened the chains.

After another hard slap to the other side of his ass, he left his lover standing there and sat back down. The book finally forgotten, his hand was on his own cock before he knew. Moaning quietly, his forehead covered in sweat, Erestor watched as his lover struggled and writhed while he was stroking himself.

How Glorfindel strained against the tug of the chains whenever a new drop of wax fell on his already white-stained balls and quickly bent down again when the pressure on his nipples became too bad. The new jerk then provoked another flicker of the flames, more thick fluid breaking away and grazing the sensitive skin so close to the heat. The interval of this little torture became shorter and shorter, Glorfindel's whole body now covered in a salty shine, his legs close to giving in. And still his lover stayed silent, save for the occasional plea for release either by his words or in their just as casual, unreliable mental bond.

Sighing, Erestor got up again and sat down behind his lover. Worshiping the back of his beautiful legs and his reddened behind with sweet kisses and licks, he stroked his desperately hard cock until Glorfindel cried out and shuddered, his back arching, chasing a release that the set of tightly bound leather straps prevented, and then only cried out louder when more wax tortured his skin.

" _Please_ …"

"Not like that."

Erestor sucked a deep, none too gentle mark into one of his cheeks, always keeping an eye on the flames that were coming dangerously close to Glorfindel's unprotected behind. Of course he wouldn't allow them to touch; he just wished, he wouldn't have to blow them out unprompted.

He needed Glorfindel to understand that even reborn generals, elves gifted with the blessing of the Valar, had their physical limits. That sometimes, giving up a lost fight was the better alternative. And that he should think about that next time before he wanted to hurl himself off a cliff with Erestor watching. Seeing his best friend die that way once had been more than enough for one of _his_ lifetimes.

"Say it. Come on. I know you can do it."

Glorfindel _growled_. For a few more long seconds, he held on, trying to get away from Erestor's touch, from the pull of the clamps, from everything, but there was nowhere to go.

It was more a sob than a whisper when he finally yielded and asked Erestor to stop.

But after Erestor had freed him from the candles and the chains and then started fucking him into that wall without taking off his bonds, his hands on Glorfindel's hips steadying him, he came the second, the straps around his balls came off and nearly collapsed under Erestor's supporting arm.

Erestor fucked him back to hardness soon enough, and by the time, he was ready to burst himself, his own attention had slipped too much to realize that his lover had made it to undo his cuffs. Before he knew, he was on his back on the floor, now a wriggling, moaning mess himself, and suddenly he was faced with a handful of newly lit candles way too close to his quickly heaving chest.

Well. This night obviously wasn't ending anytime soon.


	5. Lèse-majesté [audience]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Audience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Frame: somewhere in the Third Age;

"This is a horrible idea, Fin."

"Your dick says otherwise."

Damnit. Of course, his lover was right. As usual. "I can't believe you're making me do this."

The casual grasp down his pants turned into a firm one, slowly starting to move up and down. "You always said you wanted to do it on a throne."

Erestor made another weak attempt of moving away from the wooden carved seat in question. "Yes. In some deserted temple maybe. Not in the Elvenking's Halls."

Comfortably sitting back in the King's sacred chair, Glorfindel pushed up Erestor's robe and hummed against his stomach, swift fingertips busy opening the ties of his breeches. "Logistics."

Erestor bit back a moan and buried his hair in Glorfindel's golden hair, right there where the dozens of thin festive braids met at the back of his head. Only to shove him away of course. Definitely. Immediately. In a minute, maybe. "While we're on a diplomatic mission."

A firm grip of deadly strong hands on his ass prevented any further attempt of escape. "Details." With just the tip of his tongue, Glorfindel teased the head of his cock, and Erestor was ashamed to admit, he found a treacherous spot of white already to lick up.

Damnit, why did his lover have to be such a delicious sight in those otherwise so dreadfully dull, stony surroundings? This was turning more into the most interesting part of this mission by the second. Also into the possibly most lethal. The King of Mirkwood wasn't exactly known for being patient with impudent visitors. "Someone could come in any moment!"

"We locked all door and checked the room three times. No one's even sober enough to come looking for us." At least Glorfindel wasn't in a mood to tease. They didn't have time for that. And the way he was pushing his mouth down Erestor's throbbing length, taking him in all the way immediately without his throat muscles doing so much as flinching, made it hard to remember all those stories about elves being beheaded in these very halls for misbehavior.

"I'm running out of excuses."

"Oh, thank Eru." With that, Glorfindel really started going at it, head bobbing, hands massaging, two fingers busy probing Erestor's hole. Their eyes met for a moment; the mischievous glint in Glorfindel's bright blue orbs said it all. He wouldn't have dragged Erestor here for this if he hadn't suspected his lover to be prepared for him.

Erestor had to brace himself on an armrest with his free hand, his knees nearly giving in when Glorfindel's fingertips found his prostate and thrummed it in rhythm with his ever-quicker growing sucking movements. He tried to reach between their bodies with a trembling hand, to give back a little bit of this assault, and found his lover already half-naked and rock hard as well. No, Erestor definitely wasn't the only one who had fantasized about this.  
The fear of being discovered was still ever present, and of the Mirkwood residents turning out to be not half as indifferent with their exhibitionistic streak as their kin in Imladris. So Erestor forced himself to pull away soon enough.

Glorfindel groaned a small protest, a frown that quickly enough turned into a grin when Erestor moved to kneel over his legs. Before he could though, his partner softly grabbed his hips and shook his head, his cheeks flushed, his forehead gleaming in the soft torch light. "Turn around."

"Oh, damn it all."  
The prospect of riding his lover on this damn throne while facing an imaginary audience, as if he was nothing more than a pastime amusement between duties, a pleasure slave, which happened to be one of their favorite fantasies … It was enough to nearly make Erestor come on the spot. He had to grab himself with gritted teeth while he followed the request, let his lover's impatient but still so very gentle movements guide him until he could take him in.  
Using a few hasty fingers in his guest chambers on himself earlier had not nearly been enough to prepare him for Glorfindel's infamous girth. But he cherished the burn, rolled his hips against his casual lover, moaning as loudly as he could allow himself in a public setting like this, in the telltale echo of the underground halls. "Yes … Fuck, you're so hard …"

"And you're the prettiest sight." Glorfindel bit down on his neck, none too gently, while he stroked Erestor's cock in a rhythm matching his quick, firm movements, his other hand tracing the crystal adornments and rich embroidery of Erestor's expensive diplomatic robe. "All debauched and ready for me … So tight and hot … Wonder what the Lord would say if he saw you now … Or the King …"

"Do not even _jest_." Erestor shuddered, imagining Thranduil's ice-cold eyes or these deadly blades allegedly hidden somewhere in this very throne being aimed at him in anger or challenge. For a moment, he was sure to spot a movement, somewhere behind a sculpture of two elves caught in a passionate act at the very end of the hall, but it was only the flickering flames.  
Still, his shiver was apparently enough to make his muscles tighten up, because his lover emptied himself inside of him with a quiet scream and took Erestor with him with the help of another few quick strokes. Enough risk for the day, no matter how hot this had been.  
Just for another risky moment, Erestor nuzzled his face against his lover's damp neck, blinking into the emptiness of the room while his body tried to get down from that just as intense as fast energy ride. Immediately, he froze so much, all his muscles going tense, that he could swear he felt Glorfindel's softening cock inside of him give another interested twitch.  
"Forget it. We're not alone."

"I thought you'd never realize." Glorfindel chuckled softly and kissed the offended growl of Erestor's lips. "We shouldn't overstay our welcome though."

"Couldn't agree more." Erestor got up, wincing softly at the uncomfortable soreness that would make sitting down in tomorrow's trade negotiations all day an adventure, and tried to straighten his robes and breeches as quickly as possible.

Amused and – Erestor could swear – heated bright eyes followed their every movement when they sneaked out the very same side entrance they had entered through.  
Since they obviously hadn't been decapitated on the spot, he couldn't help but wonder what their audience thought of their performance. A question that should definitely not be half as arousing as it was.  
Maybe another time.

"One of these days, Lord Elrond's subordinates will learn how to clean up after themselves."  
After another half annoyed, half turned on sigh on his lips, Thranduil leaned back against the wall again. Before his closed eyes, he recalled the pictures of the scene that had just unfolded in this hall, then glared down at where the captain of his guard was kneeling between his legs.  
"And whoever told _you_ to stop?"


	6. Make me whole [A/b/o]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: A/b/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Beginning of the Third Age

Erestor never had a problem with Glorfindel being an Omega.

Why should he? He has always hated bigotry. Fortunately, since the end of the First Age, the outdated notion that Omegas are in any way the weaker class, has more and more died among elfkind. Not least _because_ of Glorfindel. Once people had seen an Omega charge a Balrog single-handedly and coming out on top – one resurrection give or take –, they had stopped counting a submissive nature in the bedroom as a disadvantage.

What Glorfindel is, and what Erestor has been born as, has never affected their special kind of relationship too much. They are both not made for romantic love, none of them wants to have kids, and they enjoy having sex with each other just fine.

That they cannot help each other through heats or ruts, because in these phases, remembering certain casual arrangements is difficult ... That’s inconvenient sometimes, sure. But they manage.

Sex long stopped being a problem. Glorfindel had a healer cast an infertility spell on him long before he even joined the army back in Gondolin. And thanks to a small private patch on the balcony of his chambers, he never runs out of suppressant herbs. He only lets his heats run their course every few months to let off the necessary steam.

Erestor on the other hand doesn't fuck any Beta who is looking for a partner and keeps his hands off Omegas, just as Glorfindel stays clear of other Alphas. The whole thing means a ton of logistics and debate especially with possibly interested Betas, but they make it work.

What Erestor _does_ have a problem with is when Glorfindel starts to mess up the dates for his heat, because once more, his mind is too deeply buried in army issues. Or when he forgets to start drinking his suppressant tea in time. Asking a Beta for support in a rut or heat is possible but it takes _time_ and _planning_.

When Glorfindel is under so much stress that he messes up _both_ of that, and when they happen to be snowed in, that problem turns into a big fat catastrophe.

The humid heat of Omega hormones and slick hits Erestor like a spiked mace to his face when he finally enters the hut again, after repeatedly kicking a huge pile of snow rather than yelling at Glorfindel for an hour straight. Now he's not that pissed off anymore. Instead, his clothes are soaking wet from the storm and his hair is icicles, but he has never been less cold in his life.

And that is _before_ he turns his eyes to the only bed in this ruinous old shelter and notices how much worse his partner’s condition has become in these last few minutes.

Glorfindel has now shed – torn off is probably more like it, judging by the looks of his tunic – all of his clothes, and he's a mess. Curled up tightly on his side, facing the wall, his hands are clenching down on a pillow, a bunched up blanket between his thighs satisfying the worst yearning for any kind of contact. The blanket and mattress sport a lot more stains than before, which is actually a phenomenon, considering last time someone was here, the sun and moon probably have not been in the sky yet. Glorfindel is leaking like crazy, and Erestor hasn't even _touched_ him yet.

Erestor curses and tries his best to blink away the arousal building up in his own body immediately again, to shake off the primal urge to just throwing himself at an Omega. He never wanted to be like that and he would be damned if he starts that now, just because they both haven't been awfully clever about this situation.

Truth is, Erestor knows his partner's cycle well enough; he could simply have asked Glorfindel about his status and his supplies before they left Mirkwood. The King would have been happy to shower them in suppressants for the way home, after Erestor basically ran the whole damn Kingdom, put away the wine bottles, reorganized that catastrophe of a library _and_ changed the Crown Prince's diapers for the better part of this decade.

Nothing can be done about that now, except for dealing with the problem. " _Valar_ , Fin, for _how_ long did you suppress your heats?"

Again, he feels a slight tingle of embarrassment about even having to ask. He really has kind of lost his sense of time, trying to prevent the last elven monarchy in these realms from crumbling under Thranduil's grief-driven hissy fits.

"Not sure. Couple of years." Though the pillow is muffling Glorfindel's beautiful melodic voice, Erestor can easily hear that it's rough with tears of both shame and frustration.

" _Years_." No wonder the usually so composed general of Imladris' armies is hanging on by a thread. You can only ignore and chemically cage an overload of hormones in your body for so long.

"Too much to do after the war. Couldn't risk being out for a few days. Or accidentally bonded." Glorfindel crawls into the moldy wall even further, another tremble going through his tense body. More clear fluid drips from the back of his thighs onto the greyish fabric of the blanket.

"But you could risk getting us in trouble here in the middle of nowhere."

Erestor is being too loud again and hates himself for it, but this time, he can't hold back. As if it was not enough that he is supposed to help an Omega through a heat for the first time in his own life. He's being asked to cling to his clear senses, when he already feels as if he's emptied three barrels of Thranduil's very own special wine all by himself. "How shall I keep my teeth to myself when your pheromones are flooding the room like a damn tsunami?"

"I'm sorry." This time, it's not a shiver of overwhelming arousal that is spreading on Glorfindel's broad back. And that's far worse than any – justified – annoyance with him. "You don’t need to do this. I will just go outside when it gets worse. I've pulled through heats alone before."

"Nonsense. Not in this storm. You wouldn't last a day."

At least the short outburst has helped getting the pulsing need in his own veins under control for now. Sighing, Erestor sits down on the bed, after loosening the ties of his breeches, because those are getting uncomfortably tight. He won't have longer than a few minutes before his heat-induced rut will make everything but the desire for touch forgotten. He needs to make the best of that time.

After spreading a few of their spare clothes on the mattress to keep it from getting completely drenched through, he caresses Glorfindel's arm to get his attention, and bends down to press a kiss to his lover's temple. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault."

Finally Glorfindel turns on his back, lets Erestor see his puffed eyes, the anxious resignation and the anger on himself on his face. A trust not always and not easily given and Erestor knows perfectly well to appreciate that.

"It's not yours either. I want you to know that. Whatever happens tonight, it will be alright, Erestor. I can take it …" His striking blue eyes are widened. And it's not the usual unease they both feel when they even consider entering a serious relationship.

"Fin, what …?" Frowning, Erestor reaches for his lover's hands to loosen their death-grip on that pillow and gasps when he feels how cold they are, a crass opposite to the heat radiating off the rest of Glorfindel's body. "Why are you shaking? I'm not going to hurt you. We are not doing this for the first time. If you don't want to risk it, I'll grab a few blankets and leave right now until you're good."

"You'd freeze to death quicker than me, idiot," Glorfindel grumbles.

That's good. Bantering is better than the sudden subtle fear that they never had to have before. Not of each other.

"Don't be ridiculous. We don't have a choice. That's not it." But that's where he stops and closes his eyes, shivering again.

A new surge of wet between his legs has him whimper in embarrassment, his cock leaking pre-cum nearly just as quickly. His grip on Erestor's hands is so tight it hurts, and it effectively keeps Erestor from trying to take the edge off with a few quick movements.

Whatever it is that is frightening Glorfindel so much, Erestor wants it out of the way before they are both too drunk on lust to care. Enthusiastic consent has always turned him on so much more than any games and toys.

"I can't promise I won't bond you. I don't know if I have that strength. If it happens …" He shrugs and somehow brings himself to grin, askew as it looks. "It probably won't be much different than before, you know. Might even make things in Imladris easier. As long as you don’t expect me to sing you sonnets and put a ring on your finger or something ... We already do share nearly everything else anyway."

"Not everything." Glorfindel's eyes only darken more, turning to the pile of bags and supplies that along with one or two hunts would hopefully last them through the next weeks. Only the most important medical utensils were missing.

"I was stupid. I didn’t think of the snow. I thought we would be back before my next heat strikes. I didn't only leave the suppressants at home but … Erestor, I have got no toys here. Maybe we can dry some of the wood outside in time, carve it …"

Erestor snorts and rolls his eyes. "I'm not putting a rotting, splintering phallus up your behind when I can ease your need with my cock, darling. Come, sit up, I need to change these covers or we'll be lying in filth all night."

Glorfindel makes no move to follow the gentle request. There are some Omegas who fit that old stereotype of being submissive by nature, but Lord Elrond's general has never been among them. Even in this compromised state, he's still two times Erestor's size. Nothing will be happening here that he doesn't want until his hormones get the better of him.

"Wait, I need you to … It's just that I never … The Lord always used bigger toys on me when it got too bad, but never one of those made for Omegas, you know? With the flared endings …"

Erestor lets go of him to bury his face in his hands, his hands in his hair. It's all he can do to not pull it out. This evening just keeps on getting better. "Fin, are you seriously just telling me you've never been knotted, not even by a toy?"

The way, Glorfindel turns his head away in new embarrassment says enough.

A hole in the snow to sleep in becomes a more tempting option by the second. "How the _fuck_ were you not screaming in pain through the whole valley every few months?"

"The Lord owns an extensive gag collection."

"Oh, Fin."

This time, when his lover turns away to face the wall, Erestor just lays down behind him, spooning him, using the blanket between them as last protection to not do anything stupid. From up close and with Glorfindel's sweat-shining skin right before his eyes, it becomes torture, not fucking him into the mattress immediately, with his teeth buried down on that one special spot between neck and shoulder …

The choked tremble in Glorfindel's voice holds him back. He has never heard his lover talk like that.

"In one of my first heats, the Alpha I turned to back then … He tried. It just … it really hurt, and I was injured. Probably should be thankful, that turned him off too much to bond me." He gives a tired, one-sided shrug, anger and disappointment long outweighing whatever he might have felt for that bastard back then. "I was young, foolish and head over heels over pretty red hair and a two-handed sword."

Frowning, he looks back over his shoulder when he feels Erestor sitting up and reach for the tunics he has lost at some point in the last minutes. "Where are you going?"

"To find that asshole and cut his head off."

It's Glorfindel's turn to snort. There is also a warm tone of surprise and deeper love than they could allow themselves in his chuckle. "A Balrog beat you to that."

"Oh."

"Just … please be careful." When Erestor looks at him again, again, Glorfindel's eyes are full of tears.

Yeah, right. There is no _way_ he is not going to bond this elf at the latest at the end of this night. He won't ever let anyone hurt Glorfindel that way again.

For now, he answers with maybe the gentlest, softest kiss they have ever exchanged and finally allows his own heated body to take the wheel, the heaviness of desperate arousal in his mind mixing with the one he can feel in Glorfindel over their usually quite unreliable mental bond.

_Always._

He groans in relief when Glorfindel wraps his arms around him, pulling Erestor on top of him with a pleading moan, because he's not sure how much longer he could have waited. He takes only a few more seconds to enjoy that slowly deeper growing kiss and impatiently wriggle out of the last of his clothes before he moves down on the bed to get his hands on Glorfindel's quickly heaving chest and his mouth on his cock. It won't be enough, no matter how deeply he takes him in, how firmly he swallows around the leaking head, with his cheeks hollowed.

But it distracts his lover enough so he doesn't tremble or flinch anymore when one of Erestor's hands gently parts his legs further and starts to explore that slick mess between them. Not having to worry about oil for once is definitely an upside to this whole thing, he finds.

Glorfindel screams and comes down his throat the moment Erestor enters him with two fingers, but he never goes soft and probably won't for the next day or two, so Erestor doesn't bother pulling back. He just keeps on worshipping his thick, veiny cock with his lips and tongue and throat muscles until his lover his an oversensitive mess and buries one hand in his hair to slow him down.

When their eyes meet and Glorfindel pulls out from this zone of absolute bliss for a few seconds, he blinks in confusion at the satisfied mischief in Erestor's eyes before he realizes, his lover already has four fingers up to the knuckles in him, and he's hardly even noticed. " _Oh_ …"

"Relax," Erestor murmurs softly. Moving to suck Glorfindel's sensitive balls into his mouth next, rolling them around with just the slightest pressure of his tongue, he starts thrusting up into that slick, burning hot channel in earnest, his fingers curling just right, until he feels the muscles give in even further and carefully pulls back, raising an eyebrow at his lover. That's not exactly what he had planned, but suddenly he knows what he has to do.

_Relax._

This time it is indeed an order, and it actually works. When he tucks his thumb firmly into his fist and carefully pushes against Glorfindel's wet dripping hole, it takes just a little pressure to slowly slide his hand inside.

His lover groans and writhes and trembles under the new sensation, but there is no pain Erestor can feel in their connection. On the contrary, Glorfindel thrusts his hips down against the intrusion, bigger than what he is being used to, but it fits. This is what his body is made for when it goes into heat, and Erestor feels honored and touched that he is the one, this beautiful Omega decided to give himself to.

"More …" Glorfindel's eyes flutter open again. "Please, need you, Alpha …"

"I have you."

Erestor has kept himself busy enough until now to rein his own desperate lust in, but this needy whimpered plea is the last straw. Quickly sitting up between his lover's legs, he motions Glorfindel to bend them and pushes a spare pillow under his hips. With one slow, careful move, he enters him and laughs softly, his voice heavy with lust, when Glorfindel wraps his legs around Erestor's hips immediately to pull him closer.

They fall into each other as naturally as ever, moving as one, knowing their partner's preferences after all these centuries well enough to anticipate and answer to every move with just the right amount of speed and pressure. A little additional lubrication couldn't change anything about that.

After all that patience they somehow managed to muster up, Erestor can feel it much sooner than usual, that tension and starting swelling in his lower body that he usually manages to ignore when he isn't thrown right into heat against his will. Growling, he bends down to kiss his lover once more. The growl turns into an exhausted, pained mewl when he forces himself to pull back just for a moment, his hand on Glorfindel's stomach gently stopping him from following the movement.

_Please … Need you …_

Glorfindel's voice echoes through his mind again before he can even ask.

Erestor smiles at him through a thin veil of tears. He really should know his general so much better by now than thinking, there's anything, Glorfindel cannot pull through.

"Bear down, darling. Makes it easier."

With that, he thrusts deeply inside that glorious heat once more, his hips grinding against his lover's, every last thought flying straight out of the window when he feels his knot build at the base of his cock. Somewhere, vaguely, in the back of his mind he hears something he should have recalled for that certain moment, something that has to do with a new flood of pheromones numbing his clear thinking when his lover's incredibly tight channel engulfs him, their bodies locked together in the most intimate way possible. A scent so unbelievably sweet, he wants to drown in it and never taste anything else in his life ever again, and it's coming right there from Glorfindel's vulnerably bared neck …

Before he can do something that he'd regret later, it's suddenly Glorfindel pressing his mouth against Erestor's neck, sucking down on his pulse, strong teeth biting down on his skin until they nearly break it.

Then they both come, for what seems like hours, marking each other on the inside and outside and it's perfect.

Too shaken by what just happened, Erestor lies still in Glorfindel's arms until his knot goes down and he can move again, very carefully, but his lover hardly even bats a lit when he carefully pulls back. His fingertips find the bruise on his own neck as he stares down into his lover's eyes.

"Don't you ever do anything normal?"

It's his usual way to say thank you without needing to say it, so Glorfindel just grins.

"We can talk about normal again when we don't need to fuck every two hours to not go insane. I'd prefer us to be sober when we talk about our future."

And maybe this time, for once, they actually would do that.


	7. Congratulations. It's a bird [interspecies sex]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: interspecies sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Beginning of the Fourth Age
> 
> Beta: LadyBrooke; go check her stories here, she's one of the most versatile authors I've ever met!

"What did you two do this time?" Elrond peered past Erestor into the bedroom, trying to make out more of the curled up half-naked shape there.

Of course, it would be another sex accident. Since the last of them had finally arrived in Valinor, since his ex-librarian and his ex-general had finally gotten their heads out of their asses and got bonded, their already formerly quite adventurous sex-life was taking more absurd turns every other month. Most of the time, it was him then who had to repair the damage when one of them once more had bitten off more than they could chew.

"I swear, Erestor, if you put something in him again that you can't get out ..."

" _I_ didn't." There was something in the way Erestor emphasized the first word and in the way he shuffled his feet, looking everywhere but Elrond, his pale cheeks furiously flushed...

These two usually were absolutely shameless about even their most creative techniques.

Seriously suspicious and a good deal more worried now, Elrond tried to look into the bedroom again, grabbing the strap of his healing bag over his shoulder tighter to try and just squeeze past the other, when a movement outside the window next to the bed caught his attention.

A shape of something that definitely didn't belong there. The size of a horse, not with fur but feathers ...

"Erestor, care to enlighten me what one of Manwë’s eagles is doing pacing about in your carrot beet?"

Erestor blushed up to the tips of his ears now. "We might have been a little drunk last night."

"This is my shocked face."

This time, Elrond just pushed him aside with a hand tightly - warningly - squeezing his shoulder, because he could see Glorfindel trembling from exhaustion and probably pain from here, though most of his bare bulky shape was covered by a mess of golden curls and the covers.

Erestor quickly got in his way again, using his slightly taller size to block the view once more. "This is ... not what it looks like, okay? It was an ..." He gestured outside to where the oversized bird was still digging up the earth of his garden, croaking a worried noise from its huge beak from time to time. "Emergency?"

"Said, I owe the eagles a favor," Glorfindel finally spoke up, his voice raspy and clearly tired from several nights without sleep, but at least mostly without discomfort. "Look, it was supposed to be for a few hours only. But I think, it's somehow getting bigger ..."

Elrond considered trying to get in touch with a Valar for a moment, just to see if that passage back to Middle-earth wasn't a thing that could be achieved after all. Fading alone there seemed quite an attractive alternative to being the healer on call for a bunch of millennia-old newlyweds with a risk-awareness like the lovechild of Fingon and Gollum.

"You can either let me see him now, Erestor, or I'll sing you into paralysis and watch you drool on the floor while I care for your husband. Your choice."

"Wait, there's a song for that?"

Oh Eru, Glorfindel sounded honestly interested.

"How about I undo whatever you two got yourself into this time first before you experiment with the next ... Oh, _come on_. Really?"

Though he had half expected it, actually seeing Glorfindel's stomach bulging with the shape of a huge egg buried somewhere inside his backside, with his own two eyes, had Elrond seriously consider if maybe Morgoth and Sauron had had the right idea after all.

"I think it might be somehow stuck."

Glorfindel winced when Elrond turned him on his back, shoving the covers away unceremoniously, though probably more because of the pressure on several organs than from shame. Elrond had seen both of these elves naked more often in compromised positions than he cared to count.

"We ... um tried to push it out. Didn't feel so good." He grimaced a little and clenched the reddened, sore skin of his stomach when another cramp rippled underneath. "It's just ... really big."

"You didn't seem to mind that last night," Elrond answered dryly, carefully probing the bulge, trying to estimate the position and exact size of that damn thing. "Eagle eggs don't grow at this stage. They just need a warm environment to hatch. Which is definitely not up any human's behind, just in case you were still wondering."

"I'll never do it again?" Glorfindel showed that wide-eyed, askew grin he always tried to cover it up when he was in pain, and clutched Erestor's hand tightly when his lover sat down behind him to take him in his arm.

"Can you ... I don't know ... sing it out?"

"That's not how any of this works, you two should know that by now." Elrond massaged the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore the louder, demanding screams of the bird outside the half-opened window who was worried for their offspring.

"I need hot water, Erestor. Now." Still grumbling and frowning, he rummaged around in his bag for the right herbs.

"We'll have to induce ... well, something like labor. Too much pressure could damage the egg, and it's in too deep to get to it manually. I'm afraid, this won't be comfortable, Glorfindel. That thing didn't grow bigger, you just tightened up again. You do happen to be an elf, in case you forgot that. We'll have to loosen the muscles again, and slowly."

"I can do that?" Erestor asked carefully, still astonishingly shy from the fireplace.

"You don't even breathe until I tell you to. You can hold his hand and pray he won't break your bones, because I won't sing them back into shape," Elrond snapped at him.

" _Water_."

Glorfindel stared at the cup Elrond was reaching him mistrustfully. "That paralyzing song sounds pretty tempting ..."

Elrond rolled his eyes and motioned him to drink. "You need stretched muscles, Glorfindel, not unresponsive ones. You can either drink that or I'll find another way of putting it into you. You should remember, there's more than one."

Glorfindel seemed to think he had enough uncomfortable things up his ass for now and obeyed.

And Elrond left the room to close all doors and windows of the house.

"What's the deal with the bird?"

Frowning, Lindir looked up from his harp, glaring at the baby eagle on the window sill that kept on knocking against the glass, obviously trying to get the attention of the two elves sitting on a bench nearby.

It was not without satisfaction that Elrond saw Glorfindel blush furiously before he stuttered something about family business and bolted the room.

"There's a certain resemblance, don't you think?" He raised his glass in Erestor's direction and grinned only broader at the deadly glare he was regarded with.

That whole story might have been slightly uncomfortable and embarrassing, but everyone had made it out alive. And there had been no weird accidents since that night.

He thought that could definitely be counted as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the sexual techniques mentioned in this chapter: Please don't put anything in your ass that you're not sure you can get back out. Always attach strings or handles to whatever toy you use. Also, please don't use eggs. Don't use anything that can break. And don't stretch any orifice too wide. Anything that goes beyond a few fingers needs several sessions of gradually growing width before you can even think about more. We're not elves, our bodies can only take so much. Always be safe when you practice BDSM.


	8. Under control [Harness]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Harness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Late Third Age

"No."

Glorfindel winced. It was probably the greeting, he deserved. "It’s not like that.”

"It’s the middle of the night. What else would it be about?”

In spite of his reluctance, Elrond hurried through his living room already, to throw the next best robe on and grab his healer bag, quickly tying the mussed chaos that was his hair out of his face. As much as he pretended to hate it, being called to aid Glorfindel and his casual lover when they got themselves in embarrassing trouble … In the end, the Lord of Imladris had way too big a heart and appreciated them both too much to leave them to their recklessness.

Which was why Glorfindel and Erestor had decided to do something for their Lord for a change. Glorfindel considered telling him, he wouldn’t need any his supplies, but then just shrugged and led the way to the storey of the palace where Erestor’s chambers were located. Chambers that seemed to belong to both of them more with every passing century.

This was meant as a surprise, after all.

Also, he didn’t want the Lord to get cold feet on the way. Erestor would never let him hear the end of it.

"We’re not _that_ bad, come on.”

"Last time I heard that, a few hours later, I had to remove a whole ginger root from Erestor’s backside.” Elrond looked decidedly unimpressed as Glorfindel winced.

Right. That had been before they had discovered, it was always better to attach some twine or chain to something that could get lost too deeply too easily. Erestor had been sitting funny for a week and had needed Glorfindel to get the books from the bottom shelves for him.

"We’re not _always_ that bad. We have agreed that we need to be more careful.”

"Was that before or after Erestor hung you up in ropes and you sprained two rips … among other body parts?”

"Not my fault, the ceiling beams of this building are no match for my core strength.” Glorfindel bravely withstood the temptation to reach between his legs at the memory of an especially painful bruise.

 _That_ had been the night when Erestor and him had discovered, they should always cushion the ground when engaging in suspension bondage.

"And just for the record: The oil incidence was entirely the twins’ fault. _They_ thought it was hilarious to switch the rosemary jar in the kitchens with chili.”

Elrond gasped, finally looking truly awake, after being torn from deep sleep once more earlier. "You said, you pulled a muscle when you couldn’t ride out to the border that day.”

"Anyway,” Glorfindel quickly continued, blushing to the tip of his ears. "My point is, whatever happens between us is our choice. We are very aware of what we are doing. Clumsy, sometimes, I'll give you that. But we've never hurt anyone but ourselves. It’s just sex, milord. I know, not everyone is fond of us enjoying ourselves, but it will be fine. We are adaptive.”

"A little too adaptive for my taste,” Elrond sighed as they stopped at the dark plain door.

By now, he seemed to have realized there wasn’t a real emergency and didn’t push when Glorfindel paused for a moment, with his hand on the doorknob. Judging by the way he rolled his eyes, he was bracing himself for another embarrassing half-naked discovery in his librarian’s bedroom.

"Did I ever forbid you to have fun? I’m not a bigot. Whether you two will ever realize or not, that you are made for each other, is not my business either. All I am saying is, you can enjoy … whatever that relationship is, without trying to kill each other every few weeks. I don’t see the need.”

And that was exactly the point: Elrond didn’t see it. He couldn't understand. That was what he'd told Glorfindel when last he'd left their bedroom after an admittedly especially unpleasant healing session (neither of them had touched needles since that night). And he'd looked seriously worried, angered even.

Glorfindel didn't want Erestor's and his private life to become an issue between them. So here they were.

"You can trust us with your troops and with all the knowledge and decisions in this valley, but not with each other?" he asked, all nonchalance dropped for a second.

When Elrond didn't answer right away, thin brows just wandering higher on that worry-marked forehead, he finally opened the door. "Come. Please."

"What is this?"

A less shameless elf might have blushed at Elrond's cool, almost bored tone in the view of seeing his librarian being naked – safe for some black cloths, rope and metal – through the open bedroom door, in the flickering light of too few candles, the air heavy with arousal and oil. A hint of confusion was there too, about not finding a trace of injury on his pale, lithe form this time. Glorfindel and Erestor had indeed made it so that their leader couldn't be shocked by anything they came up with anymore.

Only the ongoing question and a hint of reproach still spoke from the narrow-eyed way, Elrond looked over Erestor's perfectly still silhouette on the bed when Glorfindel bid him closer.

"After all the lectures you have given us lately, I would like to return the favor."

Barely whispering, Glorfindel gestured Elrond to keep his voice down as well and pointed at the armchair he had prepared right next to the bed, facing the huge mirror on the wall, so their visitor could enjoy the show from every possible angle.

Then he sat down on the mattress, with enough distance to not pull his lover out of the zone that Glorfindel had just made it to leave him in earlier. One hand resting lightly, soothingly on Erestor's neck, he let him know, they were here, that everything was as it should be. Only when the minimal tension of rippling muscles between his lover's narrow shoulders slipped away, did he turn to their wide-eyed visitor again.

"Your talents or guidance are not needed in this room tonight, milord. Only your attention. I do not require of you what you cannot give. If you feel, you must, then go. I … _we_ … would only have you see."

And seeing was all there would ever be. Neither Erestor nor him had ever felt the need for anyone to actively join their lustful deeds; and Glorfindel was well-aware that their relationship was rare among elves, that only few of his kin could enjoy such bodily pleasures without a romantic bond.

Elrond, still grieving the departure of his wife centuries later, and hoping that at some point, they would be reunited, would never be among those who could start over. Not like Glorfindel himself had had to after his rebirth. Still, there were certain needs that most healthy elven bodies liked to have satisfied from time to time.

Maybe Erestor and him could at least help their Lord out with a little inspiration for too many nights of loneliness.

On top of hopefully not having to apologize for their cravings anymore after tonight.

His Lord, always the perceptive one among them, sensed the sincerity of his request and sat his healing bag down with an exasperated sigh. The offered chair, he ignored; instead, still somewhat hesitative, he stood beside Glorfindel to look down on where Erestor was on his elbows and knees before them.

Again, his eyes went big when he noticed the carefully shaped candle wax blocking Erestor's hearing, restricting another of his senses, in addition to the blindfold wrapped around his pulled back head and the thick gag sealing his lips.

"Does he even know …?"

"That you're here? Of course. Nothing is ever happening between us that is not negotiated beforehand." With a lopsided grin, Glorfindel nodded to where Erestor's caged erection strained against the unforgiving bars of his harness. "You have caught us doing a lot of unusual things in the past, but believe me: Enthusiastic consent is the biggest kink for both of us."

Still busy taking in all the details of the creative bondage, only now Elrond really seemed to notice the construction made of several metal rings around Erestor's shaft and his too heavy, too full balls.

"If it's release you're looking for, this seems kind of contra-productive."

"You know, that is _kind_ of the point."

Glorfindel traced his fingertips down Erestor's sweat-covered skin, along his strained neck, the deep line of his back. Further still, to where his lover's hip-length raven braid was tied to the long leather strap at the end of their newest toy in his backside. Finally, he reached under him, rubbing one teasing fingertip through the bars of his cock cage to catch a few drops of precum. An appreciative hum on his lips, he licked the traces off, his own neglected cock straining against his pants. With his other hand, he gave Erestor's neck another praising pat as his lover had hardly moved, just like he had ordered him to.

Not that the bonds on his front and backside allowed much range, anyway. But how Erestor just sighed in return, quietly whimpering into his gag, let him know, his lover was still completely lost in his passion and lustful ordeal of being forbidden to come, too caught up even to protest for show or drama, as he so often liked to do.

It was a very precious and the perfect sight to share. Considering how Elrond's pale skin had flushed just a little around his nose, his honored guest might start to see that as well.

"Prolonged denial makes for a much more intense height in the end. It's not exactly a pleasant wait, though, especially when one chooses to add additional stimulation." Glorfindel casually tugged at the silver chains he had looped through Erestor's nipple rings and fastened to his harness earlier, so tightly strung, it forced his lover to keep his upper body at that exact angle, to escape too much pressure on either side.

Again, that soft keen, a heavy tremble going through Erestor's body, and a visible twitch of his trapped cock, long after Glorfindel had let go off the chain. But no strain against either that or the bondage on his backside.

"As you can see, we both don't mind a little pain coming into the mix. Not everyone enjoys that, but for us, it's an additional energy source."

"I can see that." Elrond shuddered when he took a closer look at the mithril rings in question. He had seen them before, of course, but never when they were used to pull Erestor's sensitive, hardened skin so taut towards his belly that every smallest move had him sink right back into the perfect angle with a mewl.

"These? These don't hurt." A lascivious smile on his lips, Glorfindel flickered one of those shining small rings and pressed a soothing kiss to Erestor's temple when his lover screamed quietly into his gag, panting harder, faster.

"This on the other hand …" Walking around the bed, he placed both hands on his lover's bare bottom, two fingertips framing the stretched, puffed hole, openly exposed thanks to the spreader bar between Erestor's ankles. He didn't need to do more than tap the curve of that thick metal wedged between Erestor's cheeks, parting them before disappearing deeply into his well-oiled hole, to have his lover scream out again. Satisfied, he watched Erestor writhe against his bonds, once, immediately stilling again when all of his most sensitive places were stimulated at once.

" _This_ hurts. It's designed like a hook. You get the picture. And don't think for even a second that he's not waiting for me to take it out only so I can screw him within an inch of his life."

"Clearly." And in spite of Elrond's next shudder – it did look a little too dramatic this time –, Glorfindel could easily hear the choked tone in his voice now.

"If you're trying to convince me that you somehow grew up overnight, you're doing a poor job. All I see here are a number of tears and infections, I'll have to deal with soon. You left him alone like _that_?"

"Right. Thanks for the reminder." Calmly, Glorfindel walked back to the head end and reached under the pillow, to where Erestor's hands were securely tied to the headboard. Pulling out the small knife from there, he placed it on the bedside table. "Always in reach for at least one of us."

He rested his hand on the side of Erestor's neck once more, checking on his pulse, proud to feel it go a little faster than earlier but still not racing.

"I've had a few millennia to study every of his movements, you know. Every smallest expression. As he knows mine. When we focus on it enough, we can mind speak as well. He wants out, I have him out in ten seconds. Five, if I ever need to cut his hair. I like my balls attached to my body though, so I would rather avoid that."

The chuckle of their guest was a relief, and yes, it definitely sounded heated now. "Everything in here is a calculated risk."

"It is good you have found a partner to put up with your desires then. Calculation has never been your strongest suit," Elrond answered dryly.

"You don't need to convince me that you're enjoying this, Glorfindel. What I don't see, is …"

"Why?" Glorfindel asked, with the same patience that his Lord offered all his residents and servants when they came to him with trouble.

The one time Elrond would have needed someone himself, no one had made it to reach him through that impenetrable mask of grief, loss and hate, and that was something Glorfindel still deeply regretted. It was also the very reason why it was so hard for Elrond to associate bonds, helplessness and pain with anything but despair and violence.

Maybe that, at least, was something he could do for him now; take away that sting of memory whenever Erestor and him – or one of the few other, more adventurous residents of the valley – asked for their Lord's assistance after some risky amorous night.

When his Lord only nodded, silently, he gestured him to finally take that seat, to give Erestor and him the small sphere of privacy that even someone like them who had no problem with an audience, needed to unwind completely.

Gently caressing from Erestor's back upwards to get as much attention as his lover still had in this state, he first untied the knot that kept his head trapped and then the ends of that rope, still leaving his wrists bound though. The chain only got a little more leeway but stayed in place just as firmly.

With the uttermost care, he maneuvered his lover on his back and pulled the blindfold from his face. Not to give him one of his senses back – in a condition like this, Erestor wouldn't open his eyes unless he asked him to – but to offer their guest a good look at the grimace of pure bliss on his face.

Only then, he started to touch his lover.

Erestor's body was a loaded bowstring, every inch of his skin so oversensitive that he was trembling all over, arching against Glorfindel's mouth on his swollen nipples immediately. Again, those irresistible noises in the back of his throat, a high-pitched tone that turned to another scream when Glorfindel's hand found the slight bulge of the toy inside of him and just pushed _down_.

But there were no muffled words behind the cloth, no attempt to free his wrists or shy away from the touch. Erestor just _waited_ , with the same trust that a young scrawny elf in Gondolin once had put in a certain infamous renowned captain to give his life a meaning; and except for that one time when Glorfindel had faced the limits of his own capabilities, he had done everything he could to never betray that precious faith.

He didn't make Erestor wait any longer now either. As soon as Erestor had relaxed down into the mattress again, Glorfindel removed the cage too, and finally that evil hook, leaving his lover's fluttering hole ready for his own throbbing cock. It didn't take long for either of them to find relief after that.

For the first time tonight, Glorfindel had actually forgotten that they weren't alone, but when he could see clearly again and slowly pulled away to free his lover from the last of his bonds, a shadow fell over both of them. Glorfindel decided there was no need to look up, or to mention that a third scent had joined the well-known smell of their mixed release in the air.

He knew, Elrond saw what he saw when a trembling hand came to rest on his shoulder, just for a moment, before their Lord retreated again to leave them to their afterglow.

Erestor still had his eyes closed, and didn't open his lips for more than a few sips of water Glorfindel fed him before sinking back down into the bed once more, boneless, completely pliant to however Glorfindel moved him. Without the usual constant need to fidget, to reach for the next thing to take care of, without the always agitated look over his shoulder. A small smile tugged around those beautiful full lips, free of any kind of sarcasm and cynicism. It was only when they were alone that this usually happened.

Erestor was at peace.

The bedroom door closed quietly enough to not tear him from this glorious state.

Only when Glorfindel pulled the blanket over them both, exhausted enough himself, he saw that the Lord had left them a small vial with one of his infamous, highly effective healing oils he usually kept for his patient treatments only. For the day after, there was no attached note needed to know.

He grinned. Even after having lived through four ages, Glorfindel still very much enjoyed it when a plan worked out.


	9. Still life [Frotting]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Frotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Late Third Age
> 
> This is a loose continuation of chapter 8; both chapters, like the rest of this oneshot collection, can be read independently though.

Erestor should have known, they had created a monster.

While it originally had been Erestor's idea, to let Elrond watch them having sex, to make him understand what they enjoyed about various kinks, Glorfindel had done all the heavy lifting (for some reason, his lover was under the delusion that Erestor was more beautiful in bondage than he was). Blindfolded, gagged and half-deaf on top of being desperately aroused, Erestor hadn't witnessed much of their Lord's reactions, but Glorfindel's description afterwards had been graphic enough.

After that, it should have surprised neither of them that the Lord himself soon asked them for a front row seat in one of their next nights. There still would be no direct interaction – neither Glorfindel nor Erestor were sure, they really wanted that; and all sudden fascination aside, Elrond was still married to a far passing regret across the sea.

What _did_ blindsided them, was that their honored guest's wish to draw a picture of this special occasion for his private chambers. Someone doing artwork of their naked bodies, that was not something they had considered before. And the Lord was very unambiguous about the kind of scene he wanted to commit to memory.

There might be some touch by a third party involved this time after all. Something they only could accept because there really was no single spot of their bodies by now, their Lord did not know in detail already.

Just a week earlier in fact, Elrond had once more come to their rescue, in spite of them promising him that they would be more careful. Fortunately, even Elrond had admitted that technically, it had not been their fault that time. How was Erestor supposed to know, the household servants tried out a creative – and very resistant – new cleaning soap that very day he decided to polish a few of their favorite toys? Not for the first time, Glorfindel and him were very thankful for their personal healer's discretion. Exhibitionistic as they happened to be, they didn't need half of the valley gossiping about why Glorfindel had not left the bed for half of the week.

In this sense, it would have been enormously impolite to say no … Still Erestor found himself wishing soon enough, they would have.

It started with Elrond bringing a league's worth of rope when he entered Erestor's chambers for dinner. A little uneasy, Erestor wondered how many people had seen him come here like that.

Sure, he usually didn't mind people gossiping about his sex life – as long as it was rumors he had earned himself. There would be a lot of interesting conversation in the streets of the valley soon.

Even more nervous did it make him how the Lord watched them over the edge of a first glass of wine that they decided to share, to loosen tongues and hands. This sharp, almost predatory look in his bright eyes was the same Elrond usually put on in meetings before he once more proved to all his advisors, he was the smartest person in the room. Somehow, Erestor had a feeling that whatever would be happening in here soon, was not primarily meant for their visitor's pleasure but rather as a revenge for a few too many nights of being torn from his well-deserved sleep.

It was too late to chicken out now, though; and no one should ever say, Glorfindel and Erestor had backed out of a sexual challenge. Especially not of something as simple as a little bondage.

As if Erestor had not learned in two Ages of living in Imladris, that the word simple didn't exist in Lord Elrond's vocabulary. Or that their visitor was a very dedicated pupil as soon as he set his mind on something new.

On everyone's second glass in, Erestor ended up in Glorfindel's lap as it usually happened when the hour was growing late and they both had had a too long day of their respective duties. Before things could heat up too much, Elrond suddenly sharply interrupted them.

"Not so fast."

Erestor reluctantly tore his lips away from his lover's lips to look back over his shoulder, and quietly gasped when he spotted their usually so neat and composed looking Lord lounging on their sofa.

With crossed legs and his tunic half opened, a few stray strands of dark hair clinging to first traces of salt on a surprisingly strong built chest, his cheeks slightly flushed as he was watching them like a wild cat, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on its prey … Elrond was very obviously enjoying himself already.

"Tone it down, you two. We're not in a hurry."

After emptying the last content of his glass, with not the slightest tremble in his hand, the Lord reached for a short knife and started sharpening one of the pencils he had brought, without even looking at the blade. His eyes were still fixed on them, the famous eyebrow of death slowly wandering up high on his forehead.

"You're a little overdressed for the occasion though."

"You could have warned me," Erestor muttered under his breath, which earned him an amused chuckle from his lover.

"Are you kidding? You think I could have focused on _you_ if he'd done this last time?"

 _Are you thinking what I am thinking?_ Glorfindel then added via their tentative mental bond, making as little a move to listen to their visitor's request as Erestor did, much too fascinated by the sight just a few feet away.

_I don't know. If you're thinking, oh no, he's hot, you might be on to something._

Glorfindel amused snort in his head was drowned out by the sound of the Lord clearing his throat. "One would think, elves as old as you two would know how impolite it is to mind-speak with third parties present. If you were so inclined, Erestor … Your partner seems too busy ogling me to listen to orders, though I cannot fathom why."

Erestor could have named a dozen reasons from the top of his head, but he decided, this was not a good night to try and let the Lord know how breathtaking he was and that maybe he should reconsider living a life of loneliness until maybe, he would be reunited with his true love one day.

This was turning more interesting – if still slightly unsettling – by the second, so he finally complied. Reluctantly, he got up from his very comfortable position on Glorfindel's strong thighs to lose his breeches and let his lover do the same. Only seconds later, he found himself sitting on the table, his arms tightly wrapped around his lover's broad shoulders, both his hands buried in slightly messy golden curls, as his lips were ravaged by a hungry mouth.

Glorfindel's teasing touch on his hardened nipples, the pleasurable pain of the mithril rings there being pulled taut, quickly distracted him so much, he only startled up and opened his eyes again when he heard the quiet clank of tableware behind him.

"Ignore me, by all means. Just setting the scene," their guest informed him in a slightly husky voice as he rearranged the half empty plates with fruit, the wine carafe, the freshly bloomed dark red flowers Erestor had cut in his – their – garden earlier.

Once he was done, there was a suspiciously human shaped gap between those items, and two ropes waiting wrapped around the table legs.

Erestor swallowed thickly, all his blood quickly flowing to that already painfully hardened place between his legs.

Well. Maybe it had been a little naïve, thinking their Lord meant to watch from afar.

Glorfindel looked decidedly unamused that Elrond only needed to absently tap the tabletop to get Erestor to lay back, seeing as Erestor usually liked to be a brat for hours before submitting voluntarily. Never one to be outdone, he bent down to shower Erestor's quickly rising and falling chest with little kisses and nibbles until his lips grazed one of his pebbled nipples, the tip of his tongue catching the piercing to give it another heartfelt tug.

Erestor groaned and arched up, only to find, he didn't have much room for that anymore because his wrists were tied down with soft, none too restrictive knots. Shuddering, he opened his eyes, only to stare at the pointed features of a very well-known face right above him, a rare, excited smile on narrow lips, the suspicious heat of growing arousal on pale skin.

"You are way too good with this for a beginner," he murmured, slightly dazed, mewling as his other nipple was tortured with even more pressure and the piercing there was twisted just a little too tightly. His lover's throbbing length sensually rubbing against his, Glorfindel took them both in hand and slowly started to thrust against him, demanding his attention back.

Elrond snickered darkly, and _that_ shouldn't sound as arousing as it did. "I'm curious, Erestor … Who ever said this is the first time I'm handling rope?"

Ignoring the slightly bewildered and now definitely concerned look in Erestor's eyes, he gently reached under him to undo his braid and fanned his hair until it framed his body like a raven halo. "Perfect." A chaste, soothing kiss to Erestor's forehead had him shudder once more, more from emotion than lust this time, and close his eyes again.

It was alright. If there was one person, he could always trust just as much as his lover, it was his Lord. If it was a piece of art, Elrond was determined to create, Erestor would happily play the centerpiece, especially if that meant so much delicious attention.

His ankles were next to be bound, right the way he had hooked them around Glorfindel's waist, and he found, he was more than okay with that, given that his lover wasn't going anywhere soon now. More turned on by the second, he thrust his hips up into his lover's strong hand and against his shaft, first drops of their mixed precum easing the slide, as heat quickly collected in his groin. The world behind his closed lids slowly began to fall into the comfortable haze of thoughtlessness, in spite of the foreign, very noticeable presence of their guest.

Before he could really start enjoying himself, Glorfindel let go off both of them, not altogether by choice as a displeased growl from a familiar melodic voice revealed. Erestor's lips suddenly were too dry to speak as he looked up again, only to see his Lord bind his lover's wrist as well. His, he tied behind Glorfindel's back, but just as cleverly, obviously; when Elrond stepped back with a very satisfied nod and Glorfindel half-heartedly tried to free himself, he had to give up with a grunt of pure frustration.

"This is cheating. You could have said you were so much into bondage." Now, even his lover protested who had been very much on board with the idea of Elrond getting so involved just minutes earlier.

"I could have." Oh Eru, Elrond already had the next tool – very stable looking, thin ribbons – in his hands. "But then I would never have gotten the chance to put the two most beautiful elves in my valley down on paper while they're going at each other. Wouldn't that be a shame?"

The bastard was actually whistling when he reached between their tightly entangled bodies next, and this definitely shouldn't feel as good as it did. It was definitely a very welcome change to those skilled, calloused hands treating their genitals with healing salve or ice.

Torn between amazement, lust and reluctance, Erestor writhed in his bonds, a filthy curse in two languages at once on his lips when he felt the hated touch of restrictive fabric being tied around his balls and cock. The always slightly cool touch of Elrond's hands didn't do anything to dampen his spirits this night, on the contrary. Not when their wicked visitors used those damned ribbons to hold their aligned lengths together, until every smallest, every involuntary move had them rub their most sensitive parts against each other, sinfully, maddeningly arousing and never enough.

"Not sure if you meant my true parents or my foster fathers by questioning my parentage, Erestor, but I assure you, none of them would be pleased with the mouth you have on you. Don't make me close it for you." The infamous eyebrow of death directed at him quickly had Erestor bite back another not so courteous remark.

_I want you to know this is entirely your fault_ , he hissed at Glorfindel in his mind when their visitor retired to the chair at the end of the table with his sketch block, his pencils and the rest of the wine.

_Oh, do shut up._ Erestor was pretty sure, Glorfindel had just rolled his eyes at him in his head.

But that his lover was just as helplessly turned on and continuously more desperate by the passing minute, he could hardly hide. In the bright light of a dozen more candles that their visitor had lit before starting on his drawing, salt glistened on the rippling muscles of his chest and abdomen, sun-kissed skin flushed with arousal and a hint of shame about how easily they had been tricked into this situation. Every now and then, his biceps would tense as he started another useless attempt of freeing himself from his bonds, only to give in once more with a sigh.

 _Valar, would you_ stop moving _? This is not helping._

Now Glorfindel was the one not-so-silently complaining, glaring at Erestor as he thrust his hips up against the most torturous part of the bondage once more, shivering in unfulfilled pleasure, more thick fluid darkening the colorful ribbons around their pulsating flesh.

_I'll stop moving when you stop looking hot in rope._

"What did I say about mind-speak, you two?" For the amount of empty glasses littering the table, their Lord sounded scandalizing sober still.

"This won't do." Looking from his sketch to their forcefully interrupted coupling and back, he shook his head and ripped the page of the pad, only to crumple it up and throw it into the fire. Under both Glorfindel's and Erestor's disbelieving – and slightly horrified – look, he started his drawing anew, leaning back on the chair to put up his legs on the edge of the table. A far more comfortable position than he'd left his librarian and his general in.

Under his tight breeches, their Lord sported a massive erection.

This was going to be a very long night.


	10. Trade negotiations [Ass worship]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Ass worship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Late Third Age

Erestor loves Glorfindel's ass.

Now, that by itself would hardly be unusual. Glorfindel loves Erestor's ass too, especially when it's reddened from half an hour of spanking, or when Erestor's hole is widely stretched around the considerable girth of Glorfindel's cock and his partner fucks him into oblivion.

But Erestor doesn't just love Glorfindel's ass because it's exceptionally fuckable (it is), or because in the last centuries, their sexual relationship has become not quite that casual anymore and said backside therefore became more and more exclusively his (Glorfindel would probably tell him, it always was, seeing as Erestor is the only one he bottoms for).

More than that though, Erestor has a serious, full-grown fetish for his lover's ass.

He enjoys feeling the firm flesh hardly yielding under his fingers when he desperately claws down there while Glorfindel pounds him to the next age.

He never fails to be fascinated by the way, those peach-shaped mounds look when Glorfindel is lounging naked on the fur before his – their – fireplace, reading or painting, innocently dangling his legs, as if he didn't notice Erestor's hungry glances from the other side of the room.

Erestor is also fully addicted to how that snow-white skin bruises for a little while when he puts Glorfindel over his knees for his damn constant provocations. Preferably with a huge ginger root sticking out from between those perfect cheeks, the tortured, pink hole twitching around it in both lust and pain as Erestor disciplines his lover with his bare hand or a paddle.

Most of all, though, he loves to worship that wonderful ass with his lips and tongue, sometimes for hours, while he has Glorfindel bound and turned on the point of wantonness. Those are the times Erestor himself comes without a single touch, writhing against whatever surface his need has carried him away on, while his tongue is deeply buried inside that tight channel, his lover's earthly scent filling his senses, the melodic moans from Glorfindel's lips the symphony conducting his height.

Sometimes, it's really hard not to think about all that once they leave their bedroom. Lately, it's come to the point where Glorfindel is forbidden to take part in council meetings in armor, because those metal leg pads and tight leather pants _really_ bring out that fine piece of behind. One time, after an especially long debate with Lindir, that bastard put his legs up on the table, muscles moving not so subtly under those damn pants as he's crossed his ankles, and Erestor nearly came into his own breeches.

Between that and trying to concentrate on trade negotiations with Dwarves while sporting a raging hard-on, he's decided, his partner is only allowed in the room wearing long, flowing robes.

Actually, Erestor thought he made himself pretty clear about that. For a few years, it works out quite well, too.

Then comes the beginning of a realm leader meeting Elrond has scheduled for this year's midsummer festival. Buried in preparations, contracts and letters for the better part of the night, Erestor is still halfway an ocean crossing apart from being awake when he enters the Hall of Fire with a cup of his favorite nerve poison in his hand. It's all he can do not to drop it immediately, when he sees his lover bent deeply over a map on one of the long tables, with his back to him, so Erestor has a perfect view of a brand-new pair of sinfully tight breeches, accentuated by thigh length laced boots, neither of those leaving anything to the imagination.

It is a good thing, Erestor has chosen one of his most loose-fitting robes for this first morning meeting.

He must have made a weird sound in the back of his throat, because the Lord of Lórien looks up from the map with a questioning frown, braided silver hair revealing a disapprovingly arched eyebrow – Erestor is late as it is. He shouldn't affront Lord Elrond's father-in-law even more. At least, now he knows where his Lord learned how to use that eyebrow of death that he is now being shot with from two sides.

Somehow, Erestor makes it to utter a polite apology and hurry to his chair before someone might spot that now painfully tented part of his clothes after all. He takes just another second to glare daggers at his lover as they sit down.

Glorfindel shows him his prettiest smile in return, big blue eyes open wide and guiltless. Bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

"Now that we're complete … shall we? Milord, if I may … I've had a long conversation with Haldir last night, Lord Celeborn. We have discovered a few alarming gaps in your security border. I'm afraid, we'll be here for a few hours more than planned today. I hope that is alright for everyone. Chief counselor?"

"My library will do without me for a while, I reckon." Feigning as much nonchalance as he can come up with, Erestor empties his cup, withstanding temptation to just throw it at Glorfindel's head.

 _You are dead_ , he informs him sweetly via their mental bond.

Glorfindel's grin only deepens.

_But then who will you use this gift on that Haldir brought us?_

The picture of a very unambiguously formed toy made of glass flashes in Erestor's mind, and he actually has to grab himself under the table to keep himself from coming right here and there.

_You are not helping._

The prospect of trying this thing out after a long, boring day full of negligible debates indeed eases the sting of his anger a little. He decides not to ask why in the blazes Haldir would bring them sex toys on a diplomatic visit. Jealousy has become neither of them too much, and that fling is long past.

Glorfindel must have seen his quick little pout anyway, because suddenly there's the tip of a boot playfully nudging his shin under the table, caressing his knee and then further going up.

_He's brought some new oil variables too … Said, you might like to try out a few new ways to deal with insolent submissives … It works quite nicely on his betrothed, from what I hear._

It's Glorfindel's turn to yelp in surprise when Erestor kicks his other leg so hard, he stops his torturous little game immediately.

"Something wrong?" Celeborn looks from him to Erestor and back, then turns his confused glance to a mortified looking Lord Elrond, who now sports a nearly as treacherous blush as Erestor feels it heat his own face.

"It is my impression that in Gondolin, mind-speaking in public was not considered rude," Elrond answers dryly, pointy features unfazed as now both Erestor and Glorfindel feel at least a little ashamed for decency's sake.

"Now if we could get everyone's attention back to security matters …"

_You are_ so _dead_ , Erestor mentally hisses at his partner once more.

Another blazing smile that would look to anyone not in their head right now like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, Glorfindel reaches for the bowl of strawberries in the middle of the table.

Erestor is definitely doomed.

One thing, Glorfindel had been absolutely right about, Erestor ponders as he sinks down in his favorite armchair by the fire, the book in hand, Elrond has asked him to digest until the next meeting tomorrow. This is _definitely_ an appropriate disciplining.

He's turned the chair towards their dinner table where he's left Glorfindel to wait while he follows the last of duty for today. Which means, every time, he needs to tear his eyes from probably the most boringly written patrol report collection of all time, he's blessed with the sight of his lover's naked ass just a few feet away.

He hasn't bothered to unclothe Glorfindel any further before tying his wrists to the table, just pulled those damn pants down below the sharp crease of his thighs, which means, Glorfindel has a hard time spreading his legs further than a few inches. It must make the intrusion of the thick phallus Erestor pushed inside of him to the very last ring, even tighter. And with Glorfindel's balls and cock tightly bound in leather and metal, there's no way to escape which, really, after this day is only fair.

Thanks to the toy's fascinating see-through material, Erestor can not only enjoy the tremors and twitches on the smooth surface of Glorfindel's beautiful ass but watch, fascinatedly, the book forgotten already, how the tender pink flesh inside slowly turns a few shades darker, irritated by whatever evil ingredients have been used for that oil. The noise of protest and distress mixing into the much louder moans of arousal from Glorfindel's lips are hardly muffled by the gag Erestor has shut that much too big mouth with. The burning and itching must be pretty intense.

Erestor shrugs and at least pretends to go back to reading. They have their signs and their silent conversation if it gets too bad. A few hours of discomfort is really the smallest punishment he could come up with for Glorfindel's outrageous little game earlier.

Besides, an annoyed but definitely very turned on voice in his head has already promised him more than once that there will be proper retaliation in tomorrow's meeting.

Erestor thinks this might be the most interesting diplomatic visit Imladris has ever seen.


	11. Language! [Dirty talk]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Dirty talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Later Third Age

Erestor is very well aware that he’s probably the only elf in Imladris who's always looking forward to diplomatic visits from Mirkwood.

By all means, he _shouldn’t_ : Thranduil is a pain in the behind to deal with, admittedly. Trade negotiations with that stubborn, moody Sinda on principle mean at least two weeks of arguing, hissy fits and dramatic exits from the Hall of Fire.

Things tend to go a little smoother when the King sends his son, but Legolas is an infant by elf standards, and most of the time, his father rightfully walls him up in that swamp he politely calls a palace. Which Erestor definitely approves of; it’s safer since things went so far south with Dol Guldur.

Not every elf understands his solidarity with a realm that decided against any kind of military solidarity after losing two thirds of its warriors in the last big war. Even less know how closely Erestor is acquainted with these people, having spent the beginning of this Age leading a foreign advisor council and changing the Crown Prince’s diapers, after the Queen’s demise, when Thranduil was too drunk to leave his own chambers for a decade straight. Lord Elrond personally begged Erestor to help out back then, but they always agreed that no one should make a big deal out of it. Ever since then, he’s been getting along well enough with that family of eccentrics. Therefore, whenever there’s a leadership meeting scheduled in Imladris, it’s up to him to do the heavy lifting.

Confined to either the Hall or his library, most of such days he spends trying to keep grown-up elves from each other’s throat. Including a certain general of Elrond’s guards who happens to sleep in Erestor’s bed from time to time. Glorfindel and Thranduil never really got along, and so far, Erestor hasn’t found out why. It’s honestly not something he cares much about either. In weeks like these, he’s busy enough infusing his blood stream with enough nerve poison to stay awake, and making sure there’s no kinslaying happening on his doorstep.

Fortunately, every visit eventually comes to an end, and that’s when things have been getting very _interesting_ lately.

Thranduil might be a miserable misanthrope – it’s one of the reasons they get along so well, Erestor supposes –, but he’s also unnervingly loyal, and generous when he wants to be. And he has never forgotten Erestor’s silent, nonjudgmental aid from all these centuries ago. He never visits Imladris without a proper set of presents for certain old friends, among them at least one barrel of his favorite wine, solely for Erestor’s use.

It’s hard not to touch that very special gift once it’s standing there in his living room, but Erestor somehow always musters up the discipline to wait until Thranduil’s delegation has left. With the only thing left to do being stroking Lord Elrond’s ego back to size, after too many days of way too much compromise and necessary compliance, the evening then is all his.

An evening that has become so much more fun since Erestor found out that Glorfindel is exceptionally affected by Mirkwood’s finest booze.

Their casual but quite intense sex life doesn’t lack imagination or kink by any means, but they never talked much in the past after they’d closed the door of a bedroom – or any other remotely suitable location – behind them. It’s not necessary; after all this time, they know each other’s preferences, reactions and expressions well enough to enjoy even the most creative new techniques, without more than a few spoken orders. In especially intense games, a quick venture in the other’s mind via that tender mental bond that their loose relationship created, suffices to make sure, arousal and energy of enjoyment always outweighs any possible discomfort. And that is totally fine.

But when Glorfindel is drunk enough, he gets _communicative_. And that probably shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

It must be an especially intense vintage Erestor has been gifted with by his royal friend this time, because they don’t even make it through half of the barrel before they’re all over each other. The half-burnt dinner, Glorfindel has prepared to help Erestor relax after all those tiring nonstop debates, is long forgotten, when he finds himself naked on the cluttered table. His hands tied behind his back with the end of his own braid, he’s forced to keep his head tilted back, keep it hanging over the edge of the surface, while Glorfindel fucks his throat like there’s no tomorrow. For more than one reason, Erestor hardly gets a word in between that and his lover’s hands and mouth being everywhere on his body, accompanied by a constant litany of praise and provocation, and he’s totally alright with that.

As Glorfindel’s thumb flickers over his neck, Erestor shudders and only sucks harder on that magnificent length, grinning when he can feel it twitch on his tongue. He knows what his lover sees, he has watched it often enough in the mirror on his – their – bedroom wall, ever since his lover taught him how to take a cock so deeply. Even one of Glorfindel’s considerable length and girth.

A bulge that now is moving inside his throat, every thrust rubbing against sensitive pink flesh. Erestor is pretty sure, after this, his voice will sound hoarse for a week. Good thing, he can always put that on a month’s worth of debates with a certain pale-haired Sindar King.

When his back arches off the table, his eyes watering, Glorfindel pulls back just long enough to allow him a few clipped breaths. Erestor uses the chance immediately to tease the underside of that thick cock with just a hint of teeth, spit and precum dripping from his swollen lips, until Glorfindel conquers them with another powerful thrust, groaning his name.

“You know, your mouth is a gift of the Valar.”

Glorfindel’s trembling hands find Erestor’s hardened nipples and twist the small Mithril rings there, pulling them taut until Erestor yelps breathlessly around his cock, arching up. The movement brings his head closer against Glorfindel’s groin, until all he can taste, sense, smell is his lover’s grounded, earthly scent, and his head is swimming with lust and from the growing lack of air.

“That’s it, beautiful, take it all the way … I knew you can. Just like that. You love to choke on my cock, don’t you?” Heated fingertips graze his lips, and Glorfindel moans out loudly as Erestor stretches out his tongue past his length to lick them in affirmation.

Another few seconds for him to breathe, and for his partner to quickly check on his strained neck muscles and the vein pulsating there, before his partner thrusts into him again. “That’s right, beautiful, relax your throat, let me in … You’re doing so well. I swear, your mouth was made for sucking cock.”

The knuckles on his left nipple start massaging the sensitive flesh around the metal inside until Erestor whimpers weakly, and his own cock strains against the cage he’s put on himself in the morning. A logical move; it was one of those conferences where Glorfindel’s presence was required, and Erestor is physically unable to not get hard when he sees his lover in armor outside of battle. Now he regrets that decision dearly.

Glorfindel laughs, darkly and sinfully erotic, and brings his other hand back to the opposite side, kneading, pulling. Testing once more the limits of that special little jewelry Erestor has allowed him to adorn his nipples with a few years back, all the while fucking into his willing throat.

“If I knew how much you enjoy these, I would have put them on you hundreds of years ago. Do you know how they stare at you in the hot springs when they see these? How many of these elves want to touch you?” Unexpectedly, his lover pulls out, much to Erestor’s dismay, but his growl soon turns into a high-pitched keen, because Glorfindel steps between his legs to bend over him and sucks one of his nipples between his lips, busy tongue irritating the sensitive flesh further.

“I love it how responsive it you are,” Glorfindel murmurs, strong hands groping, massaging Erestor’s widely spread legs, the back of his thighs, and then, finally, his ass, with Erestor’s body chasing every single touch as far as the ropes tying his ankles to the table allow.

“So impatient …” His tongue finds the ring on the other nipple with deadly accuracy. He just _tugs_ , and Erestor would have come all over his stomach if his balls and the base of his cock weren’t trapped in unforgiving metal. “I might have to put my name on those, so everyone knows, you’re bending that beautiful ass of yours over only for me.”

“ _Please_ …” Unlike his lover, Erestor is far too turned on to even think of coherent sentences.

Something between a choke and a sob comes from his lips when Glorfindel, unimpressed by his neediness, bends over his cock next, licking off beads of precum through the bars of his cage.

“You know, while we’re on it, how about we put a ring or two in _there_ too?” Oh, Valar, Glorfindel looks like he’s seriously contemplating it.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to expect an answer for the moment. Instead, he just rubs Erestor’s half erect cock everywhere he can reach with fingertips and tongue until Erestor writhes and begs for more. His other hand finds the hidden spot between Erestor’s cheeks, one fingertip hastily coated in whatever was left of that ruined dinner, slowly pushing inside.

“Just think how pretty you would look …” Glorfindel has as least enough mercy to unlock him, the rings stay where they are though. He slowly licks over Erestor’s aggressively reddened, quickly hardening cock, teasing the underside with just the tip of his tongue, to leave no doubt about where in his fantasies he sees that new kind of jewelry.

“Might be a little hard to explain when we bathe with the others, but really … It’s not like they don’t know we’re desperate for each other. And next time you misbehave, I can put a few chains on all of your rings and tie you to some shelf in your library while I fuck you stupid … Saves me the trouble of smuggling rope in there.”

More of that cool, thick substance against Erestor’s twitching hole before two fingers start spreading him open. He thinks it might be the rest of that sweet cream he’s saved for that evening, and while this is not exactly the use, he had in mind for it, he’s sure as hell not going to complain.

“More … please …”

Glorfindel’s beautiful bright eyes shine with mischief. He’s clearly not in a hurry, because _of course_ , those supernatural abilities the Valar have sent him back with include prolonged stamina, even when he’s audibly intoxicated.

“Patience, beautiful … I’m not taking you before you relax properly, you know that.” Erestor can’t see it from his position, but he knows, he’s lover is grabbing himself with his free hand under the table, new moans mixing into that beautiful melodic voice as he touches himself, imagining how it will feel to be inside Erestor again after a few weeks of abstinence.

“You’re so damn tight … What? No fun with the toys in your library desk between morning meetings and evening drinks with your beloved King? No sneaking out at night to meet one of those lovely guards he’s brought? Or maybe the King himself? The way he looks at you, he’s thought about fucking you on his throne more than once … Bouncing you on that kingly cock of his for everyone to see, while he’s holding his audiences … Tempting, isn’t it?”

“ _Never_.” Erestor’s answer comes a little too harshly and offended for Glorfindel’s harmless teasing.

He makes a weird noise in the back of his abused throat when his lover pauses to look into his eyes and then leans forward to grab his neck, gently coaxing his head upward to kiss him, sweetly, deeply.

_I know._

Maybe he’s said it in their bond, maybe it’s just in the rare, dangerously close gesture. It doesn’t matter. For the moment, the night – this age, probably –, it only matters what they’re doing and that it’s good for both of them, and it’s enough.

Erestor can’t think about it further, because Glorfindel has three fingers up his ass now and his lips around the head of his cock, and he needs to come so badly but can’t. If he hasn’t perished from being buried under a ton of boring parchments in the last three weeks, he’s surely going to die now.

“Need you … please … _Now_ … I can take it …”

“Like I can refuse you anything when you beg so prettily.”

Erestor thinks he sees Glorfindel reach for the almond oil when he strains his neck up once more. Oh Eru, this is going to be a real mess inside of him, that he’ll deeply regret in the morning at the latest.

But right now, he really can’t mind because Glorfindel finally takes him, and it’s too tight and greasy and altogether perfect. Bound so tightly, all he can do is moan and push back while his muscles yield to the intrusion. “Yes …”

“I love how your hole looks when it swallows my cock …” Glorfindel’s voice just like his is only a lustful whisper at this point, his hands shaking as he spreads Erestor's ass cheeks so he can look down at where they’re joined. “You’re taking it so beautifully … Stretched so wide around me …”

Erestor can feel his sensitive hole flutter around the intrusion in response and whines, pulling on the makeshift bondage around his wrists until the roots of his hair hurt. Pressing down his hips he tries in vain to get more, to chase that feeling of being stuffed full that he craves so much.

With Glorfindel finally flush against him, it burns just enough to keep Erestor from coming immediately when his lover finally takes the restrains off his cock, stroking Erestor in the rhythm of his slow, careful thrusts. Whenever he pulls back, Erestor’s hole clings to his throbbing flesh as if to keep him close, and every time Glorfindel brings his hips forward again, it’s like someone rearranges his insides. Glorfindel is still muttering filth about it against his skin, but at that point, even his words are finally lost on him, and he starts fucking Erestor in earnest instead.

And this is it, this sensation is exactly what Erestor needs to feel whole. To feel like they’re one and better together, that they’re made for each other, no matter for how much longer they might delude themselves, and that they’ll make it through the next war as well. And maybe someday when everything is back to normal, maybe in another place …

But that’s when his thoughts leave him, because Glorfindel is pounding his prostate with every thrust and giving his cock that evil little twist as he strokes up, and Erestor comes over both of them, seconds before his lover’s warm seed coats his insides.

And for a moment, the world is indeed perfect.

Erestor is sore in places he wasn’t sure they even existed before tonight when Glorfindel unties him and carefully carries him to their bed to take care of the traces he’s left on him. His lover looks a little mortified when he starts to sober up, but now it’s Erestor’s turn to gently kiss his lips and tell him how beautiful he is when he forgets all shame and inhibitions.

They’re both far too fucked out to even think of getting hard again, but Erestor sees a glint of renewed heat in Glorfindel’s eyes at that, and smiles.

Maybe for a repeat performance, Erestor won’t have to arrange for another realm leader meeting first after all.


	12. Burning passion [Daddy kink]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Daddy kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Later Third Age

„If you insist on behaving like a brat, I’ll just have to discipline you.”

Erestor froze.

Glorfindel returned from the kitchen not, like expected, with two glasses of wine to settle that stupid argument about tomorrow’s training routine during that damn Dwarf delegation visit. Instead, on the plate in his hand he carried the biggest ginger root he had been able to find in his pantry, and a vial of oil very definitely meant for one use only.

Oh damn.

Apparently, Erestor had annoyed his part time lover far more than he’d realized, which meant, tonight’s activities wouldn’t have much to do with affection and harmless lust. Any other day, Erestor would have been alright with that, but not with at least two weeks spent in the Hall of Fire lying before him.

„Darling, if you’re hungry, all you had to do was ask.” He tried to escape the inevitable with a shallow joke and headed for the kitchen himself, carefully steering clear of the dour-faced general. „Put that damn thing down. I’ll cook some dinner, and then we can talk about this like civilized elves.”

„You had that chance two hours ago.” Glorfindel put the plate down on the sofa table, seemingly just completely calm.

Erestor should have heeded the blaze of anger and desire in his big bright eyes though. Before he could make it next door, a much larger body slammed into him from behind, pressing him against the next available wall. A warning bite to his neck choked off every possible resistance while Glorfindel’s hands were already ripping – no, _tearing_ , there went another perfectly fine pair – his pants open. A slow stroke down a treacherously hardening length made sure, Erestor was just as much on board with this as Glorfindel obviously was, in spite of all protest and fighting back.

„Now, you got two choices, my favorite brat. You can either accept your punishment like a good sub, or it will be a lot more uncomfortable. What do you say?”

Erestor made very carefully sure, Glorfindel was fluent in every three of the ancient languages he chose to question his parentage and sanity with.

A weak push of his elbow against the massive chest covering into his own earned him another sharp bite, right on the highly sensitive spot between neck and shoulder. His cock twitched against Glorfindel’s teasing caress even as he cursed again.

„Right. Like you would miss a chance to get out of one our nights without any bruises.”

Feigning an exasperated sigh, Glorfindel stepped back just enough to bring Erestor’s wrists together behind his back. Of course, that bastard already had a piece of rope on him. Less than half a minute later, every effective resistance was reduced to colorful metaphors from Erestor’s lips.

Sure, he could have tried to kick, or use his elbow in a lot more painful way, but he cared for that golden-haired idiot way too much to seriously try and hurt him. Besides, Glorfindel was of course right about Erestor hating this as much as he loved it. And not only because a certain amount of pain mixed into their passion always turned him on no end.

When Erestor was in the hands of his lover, bound, forced to endure only, not to react for once, it gave him exactly the kind of freedom he needed to escape the weight of backing all of this valley’s decisions on his shoulders. To achieve that, he could live with a little humiliation.

So, he begrudgingly followed when Glorfindel dragged him to that sofa with one hand buried tightly at the back of his neck. He put an exceptionally bored look on his face though when his lover opened his pants further and pushed his tunic up a few inches, the moment he was seated comfortably. Erestor’s cock though only hardened more from the torturously slow licks and nibbles grazing his belly and his groin, never quite where he wanted to feel them. The Mithril rings in his oversensitive nipples sensually rubbed against his tunic, making him gasp every time he fought his restraints or tried to guide that sweet mouth where he wanted it, in vain.

Still, this was a promising position, everything considered. Maybe if he just shut up now and played along, he could get Glorfindel to skip the ugly part …

He should know his lover better by now. Before Erestor really understood how deviously he just had been tricked, Glorfindel immobilized him further by pulling his tight breeches down near mid-thigh, and pulled him down in his arms, only to knock his legs from under him, so Erestor’s upper body was now bent over Glorfindel’s strong legs, his bare ass up high in the air.

„What are you doing? Let go of me, right now!”

Honestly annoyed, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment about the compromising position and his own carelessness, Erestor fought the grip on his lower arms, to no avail. His protest would have sounded a lot more authoritarian, if his rock-hard cock wasn’t nudging one of Glorfindel’s widely spread thighs every time he arched his back too far, leaving a remarkable trace of thick white on those damn leather pants.

Erestor only stopped his fidgeting when a tight smack landed on the crease of his thighs, making him see stars for a moment. No, Glorfindel definitely wasn’t playing around tonight. „ _Ow_?”

„The words you’re looking for are ‘One, thank you, master’,” Glorfindel remarked dryly, only the slightest rough tone in his warm voice betraying his own arousal. „We’ll try that again in a minute. You better remember, my beautiful brat, or we’ll have to start over a lot of times before you’re through with your thirty slaps. And seeing as you insisted on acting up …”

Glorfindel leaned forward to reach for the table, just enough for Erestor to feel the bulge in his pants and the heat radiating from his body like from an oven.

He could cuss all he wanted, truth was, he would never get tired of giving his ethereally beautiful lover pleasure, even if it was by suffering for him. Still a soft whimper came from his lips when he could hear the top of that vial clink. There was hardly anything he hated more than the ginger treatment, and this was _really_ a very large piece.

Considerate as ever, at least his lover granted him a few minutes of preparation, patiently working him open with those long, skilled fingers, until Erestor was pushing back on them breathlessly, his stretched hole demanding for something bigger to clench down on.

He got it, but it wasn’t exactly what he was yearning for.

Whimpering, Erestor tried to straighten up against better knowledge, to flinch away from the hated wet, cold touch of fruit slowly sliding up his tight channel. The burn started before it was even all the way in, that was how large the damn thing was. For a moment, he was close to put a stop to this, with the word they had agreed on for such very rare cases. But then Glorfindel’s careful fingertips eased the rest of the improvised toy inside of him, only the flared carved ending preventing it from going deeper still, and the curved tip came to rest right on Erestor’s prostate.

This time, it was good stars he saw dancing before his eyes, and his gasp contained pure arousal. When he started writhing in his lover’s lap again, it was only to get more of that delicious feeling that took away most of the burn irritating his insides.

His long-drawn-out moan turned into another yelp at the next impact of a supernaturally strong hand against his left ass cheek. It wasn’t half as bad as before but it had him clench up on that damn ginger out of reflex, which made his already slightly swollen hole feel like it was on fire. „Damn everything, Glorfindel, you st…”

He didn’t get around to finish the sentence before another slap on the other side came, another one with more force, so the burning in his ass was joined by a just as painful throb on the outside.

„I believe I told you the proper answer,” his lover said flatly. In the shadows of the fireside on the wall, Erestor could see him raise his hand again and winced instinctively, but it paused then. “Want to give it a try or shall we start over again?”

Erestor realized that he better started playing along if he didn’t want to spend this week’s trade negotiations standing up.

“One. Thank you. _Master_.” Erestor ó Imladris had always prided himself in the ability of letting even the most renowned title on this good world sound like _Bite me_.

Sometimes, Glorfindel decided to punish him for that too. Today, he seemed to be of the opinion that Erestor was tortured enough by that series of _really_ tight smacks that gradually reddened his ass, the back of his thighs and his lower back while his insides were attacked by evil juices and his still achingly hard cock hung low, untouched mid-air, the only kind of relief in this ordeal coming from an occasional jab of ginger into his most sensitive point.

Glorfindel, though always strict and creative with his punishments, was also never cruel about dealing them out. He patiently waited every time until Erestor remembered he was supposed to say something, even if a whole minute passed, of Erestor only trembling and softly sobbing from lust, discomfort and sensational overload, before he finally brought himself to count.

After the thirtieth blow then, his lover didn’t wait for him to speak up but gently tugged him upright, after removing that damn fruit from Erestor’s abused backside and getting him out of what was left of his pants. His own face and neck red and sweat-covered from growing want, Glorfindel pulled him in his lap until Erestor straddled him, desperately turned on, nestling against him everywhere he could touch.

Ravaging Glorfindel’s beautiful full lips in a searing kiss, Erestor deeply licked into his mouth, the clear demand what he needed. “Cut me loose.” He was done with being submissive for tonight, it was an order, not a plea, underlined by his impatient pulling on the ropes. “Want to ride you …”

“Are you serious?” Something that should probably be a laugh turned into a grunt as Erestor rubbed his groin against his lover’s and very nearly got Glorfindel close to come through two layers of fabric. “Don’t be ridiculous. You wouldn’t be walking tomorrow.” His hands grabbed Erestor’s wrist to freeze his useless attempts before he could chafe his skin further. “Stop that. Sit back and be good, beautiful. You can have me.”

“Takes. Too. Long.” Erestor accentuated every word with a pointed thrust of his hips against Glorfindel’s, very satisfied to see the composure on his lover’s beautiful face falter. “ _Now_.”

“You’re insatiable,” Glorfindel mumbled, slightly dazed but simply too turned on now to deny him, already reaching for that vial again. “Just for the record, if Lord Elrond asks you why you can’t sit down tomorrow, I’ll wash my hands clean.”

“Shut up. Ropes. Now.” Erestor rolled his eyes when his lover deliberately overheard that. Fine. He didn’t need his hands to drive that damn Gondolindrim crazy when it came to it.

At least Glorfindel finally had his pants open and was busy slicking himself up, no longer wasting any precious time that Erestor could long have spent bouncing on that pretty cock.

It wasn’t exactly a _good_ fuck that he got when his lover finally wrapped one arm around his hips and guided himself to the right spot, pushing inside his heated channel as carefully as possible. What he really would have needed right now, if he was being honest, was being filled up with a little bit of milk, like Glorfindel usually did it after a game like that, to ease the worst burning, and then have a good night’s sleep for his body to recover.

But this, right here, did just as well for fighting that terrible itch and soreness. Every thrust was hitting just the right place inside of him. Once Glorfindel got his mouth and his other hand on his nipple rings, Erestor came completely untouched before he’d even really found a proper pace.

Panting, he slumped forward into Glorfindel’s arms and allowed his lover to fuck up into him like he needed it, until the beloved feeling of a far more comfortable warmth spreading deep inside of him had Erestor moan softly, his spent cock giving another pitiful twitch. Not tonight.

Erestor wouldn’t be Erestor though if he didn’t have a quip on his lips still, even after being thoroughly spanked and fucked all the way to the next Age. “So, about that training schedule ….”

“Shut up.” Glorfindel chuckled and kissed him and gave his bruise-covered ass another playful slap before finally opening his restraints. “I can just as well do that do you right there in the Hall of Fire if you don’t behave, you know.”

Another, even more interested twitch of Erestor’s cock and his cheeks turning a scarlet color, nearly had Glorfindel’s eyes bulge from their sockets. “ _Seriously_?”

“Maybe next time the Lord and his spawns visit Lórien.” Erestor filed that dumbfounded but definitely not uninterested look on his lover’s face away for another night of adventure and allowed Glorfindel to carry him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the sexual techniques mentioned in this chapter: Figging/ginger play is not advised for beginners and definitely not without warning the partner beforehand, as the use is numbered among tunnel games. Always be safe when you practice BDSM.


	13. Ancient gift [Spit-roasting]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Spit-roasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Later Third Age
> 
> Beta: Alex (Foxish crow); thanks again, luv! It was a pleasure!
> 
> Note: This chapter, once again, wouldn't have been possible without the input of dear ArvenaPeredhel who helped me figure out the mechanics in this story. Thanks for your creativity! This kink prompt, obviously, would have demanded a third party. I'm trying to avoid third parties actively taking part in these oneshots though, because of Glorfindel's and Erestor's already complicated relationship (there might be elf orgies written by me in the future, just not in this oneshot collection). Wall mounted dildos need to be made of an elastic material though because of the danger of injury. So I had to get VERY creative about a toy, in a time when there's no elastic material available. That phallus and its whole backstory are solely ArvenaPeredhel's invention, and I think, Celebrimbor should pay her license fees when he opens his sex shop in Valinor. (Also, Celebrimbor deserved better.)

Glorfindel gets the idea from Lord Celeborn.

Not the first person he'd usually go to with a conflict of this kind.

But Lord Elrond recently revealed after a glass of wine too much, the only reason he’s not a whole lot more shocked and enraged by Erestor’s and Glorfindel’s quite creative, semi-public sexual adventures. Namely, that his father-in-law’s practices and fantasies surpass even theirs.

Therefore, next time there’s a diplomatic visit from Lórien, Glorfindel snatches the silver-haired elf Lord away first chance he gets to interrogate him, bribing him with a huge barrel of Dorwinion.

It’s not exactly a _pleasant_ conversation. Before this night, Glorfindel honestly failed to realize that Erestor and him are the favorite gossip subject in every realm from Mirkwood to Lindon. But he's rewarded for the embarrassment with a few ideas he definitely wants to try out with his casual lover next chance he gets.

It turns out, Lórien elves are experts on the subject of unusual toys; not entirely surprising, given their natural talent for craftsmanship and glass-making. The Lord promises Glorfindel to send him a whole box of tools soon, in exchange for Glorfindel whipping a few of his border guards into shape next spring, and that’s a pretty good deal.

One toy, the Galadhrim leader gifts him with right away, stating it's just one of many. Glorfindel decides not to ask what Celeborn needs a bag full of sex toys for when he visits Imladris without his wife.

Galadriel is terrifying and knows everything; if she wasn’t alright with whatever her husband is up to here with a scandalous amount of rope and a variety of phalluses, Celeborn would no longer have his balls attached to his body.

So Glorfindel just accepts the little gift the other slips him once the barrel is nearly empty and their tongues are looser than ever. A frown of curiosity sits on his brow when he inspects the phallus.

“One of the many gifts Celebrimbor has sent to my wife in the long gone past”, Celeborn explains in his usual patient tone, even a bit more dragged than usual after the last refill. “Don’t worry. No dark magic of any kind attached”, he chuckles when Glorfindel shudders. It doesn’t sound too amused. No, metal craft by Celebrimbor doesn’t have the best reputation on Middle-earth, but Celeborn’s old friend deserved a lot better than how he ended up.

“We never got around to try that one out. Believe me, he would love you to have it. He always wanted to see his presents being put to good use.”

Glorfindel can’t argue with that, so he just squeezes the other elf’s shoulder in both comfort and gratefulness.

They drink their last glass on Celebrimbor, to the hope that he's safely back in Valinor by now and found the happiness his first life contained so little of. They can't know for sure, but Celeborn is drunk enough to muse that if this is the case, good ol' Celebrimbor probably runs his own shop for his very special toys right now, and that probably half of Valinor is made up of his customers. It can get really boring there, they say.

Glorfindel decides not to comment on that either. It's time for him anyway to fetch his lover from the library where Erestor has probably fallen asleep over some trade contract once more. Just two more days of negotiations, then he'll have him all for himself again.

And as it is, there’s a few especially interesting nights coming up for the two of them then.

“What is that?” Erestor doesn't need to lose that critical glance from last week's meetings at entering the living room and eyeing Glorfindel's newest attempt of surprising with him dinner.

It would probably be more of a surprise at this point if the result was edible. “Roast chicken?”

“Debatable”, Erestor states after carefully checking the half-burnt crust and the too pink meat underneath with his fork.

“And not what I meant. What is _that_?” The fork points at the phallus-shaped package in the middle of the table.

Glorfindel tries his prettiest smile. That usually works better than food for getting his scowling lover into the right mood anyway.

"Lord Celeborn sends his regards."

"I'm not sure I want anything of someone who hangs people upside down for pleasure."

Erestor finally sits down but makes no move to touch his plate. He looks seriously worn out, his skin another shade paler than usual, his raven hair a loosely tied back mess, his shoulders tense. Serving as a cushion between Lord Elrond and his father-in-law always uses up his diplomatic skills as well as his patience.

About high time Glorfindel does something to help him unwind. Fortunately, Erestor's slightly flushed cheeks betrays his pointed disinterest already.

Only in Celeborn's last night here, they found out what he's brought all these toys for, in a remote corner of the community baths, the same one Glorfindel and Erestor usually retreat to if the need is too big to wait to get back to their chambers. Yesterday, they quickly forgot about getting each other off underwater as they found said kink-Lord showing a young Noldor and his wife how they could tie the other up and pleasure the suspended partner with their mouths. The Lord of Lórien has very visibly enjoyed himself from his corner as he watched and advised but never came closer than in speaking distance.

And while Erestor indeed voiced his displeasure for that particular position before, it was impossible to miss his longing looks at the complicated rope work itself.

An expression tempting enough for Glorfindel to want to go deeper with their formerly quite tame bondage skills ... and to make good use of a certain new toy at the same time. "Those two elves _were_ moaning quite loudly, is all I'm saying."

"You’re _not_ making me want to open this." But Erestor's dark eyes are shining with quickly growing excitement. He sure as heck doesn't protest when Glorfindel goes to stand behind him and puts both hands on his shoulders, gently kneading out the worst of knots under his skin.

"It’s just a little toy he wanted us to have. He told me to thank you for your service, by the way. He thinks you’ve done a great job in the past few days. Said maybe he’ll consult you next time he has to negotiate border etiquette with King Thranduil."

"I’d rather fuck all nine Nazgûl at once", Erestor tells him sweetly, and then sighs, because Glorfindel's fingertips slip under his tunic, flipping open the first buttons.

A sound that turns into a moan when Glorfindel bends down to lick along the sensitive tip of his ear and bite down on it before he whispers.

"How about _two_?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not Nazgûl." Snickering, Glorfindel gets rid of the rest of that annoying tunic and kneads Erestor's over-sensitive nipples to hardness, twisting the Mithril rings in them until his lover keens. "Cocks."

Erestor's face is still mostly marked by confusion and still a hint of mistrust, but the bulge under his dark grey breeches says Glorfindel finally has his attention.

Impatiently, he pulls his lover's chair back and fumbles with the ties of the pants next. "Are we eating that food?"

"Only if you want us to spend the night in the latrines instead of your bed." Erestor lets out another strangled moan when Glorfindel gets on his knees in front of him and takes every single inch of cock into his mouth as soon as it's free from fabric.

"Stop deflecting. What's this about suddenly wanting someone else in our bed? I thought we agreed, we don't need that."

It's probably more that they don't _want_ it; but admitting that would mean admitting that they're way too crazy about the other to share and that sooner or later, they might have to deal with those feelings. But with another war on their doorstep, that's not a priority.

Right now, Glorfindel is far more interested in how sweet his lover tastes on his tongue, and how melodic his usually rather rough voice sounds when Glorfindel gets his hands under him to grope his behind. Oh, he's going to make good use of that perfectly-proportioned body tonight.

He lets Erestor's throbbing length slip from his lips only long enough to shake his head in a gesture of reassurance. "Not a person. Now will you open your package already?"

"If you can stop distracting me for a moment, I might … Oh fuck. Don't you _dare_ stop." Erestor thrusts up with a groan as Glorfindel swallows down around him, once, two times, once more, and then lets his lover spill his seed down his throat.

Until Glorfindel made quick work of the rest of their clothes and comes back up, Erestor is finally staring at that new toy. His face is a question mark.

"It's made of a very special metal from the last Age." Glorfindel shows his lover how the very long but not too thick toy is bending from a bit of pressure of his hands, the numerous metal joints moving thanks to a special layer coating them, to allow flexibility.

It might not _look_ like most exciting toy they own, but Erestor gets the idea soon enough, especially when Glorfindel fetches their stash of soft black rope from the bedroom. That he's seriously already getting hard again answers a question that needs no further addressing.

Glorfindel starts by encasing his torso in the net they've come to appreciate as basis for restriction. Quickly enough, the two main "arteries" are secure around Erestor's small waist and stretching along his upper body. Reaching from neck to groin, they're tastefully framing his quickly growing erection and softly parting his tight cheeks before reaching back up the carefully trained length of his back.

By the last of these first knots, his lover has his eyes closed, his hands behind his back without the need for an order, and his breath is a deep sigh of relaxed enjoyment. This is a sight Glorfindel will never get tired of, so he takes his time, adding a layer of diamond shaped windows of rope to showcase Erestor's pebbled nipples. The cuffs are next, neatly wrapped, loose fitting ropes on each upper arm and thigh, the ends of those threaded through the arteries for stability.

None of those restrictions are tight yet as the most important layer is still to come. But it's enough to guide Erestor into that space he craves so much from time to time, where he doesn't have to move, to say, to react to anything, where he can only let himself fall and give himself over.

Glorfindel never fails to appreciate that he's the only one being given that trust. "Stay, beautiful."

After a quick kiss to Erestor's lips he replaces the pitiful mess of a dinner on the table with a few blankets from their bedroom. A new set of ropes then is threaded through the construct already adorning his lover's body, just the way Celeborn described it in every last detail, until the black web around Erestor's heavily heaving chest and his narrow hips sits a lot tighter.

_Trust me._

It's a plea, not a question in their mental bond, and the unhindered warmth and excitement flowing back into Glorfindel's own soul is all the answer he needs to lift his lover into his arms and lay him down on those blankets, positioning him on his stomach.

Caught up in planning and full focus for a few minutes, a choked moan comes from his lips when he pauses, his eyes at the ceiling beams, and a wicked tongue immediately starts to tease his half-hard cock. "Not now, beautiful. It's impossible to think clear when you got your mouth on me."

With a quiet laugh, he buries his hands in Erestor's hair to stop him, and takes the chance to braid it, to have it out of the way. He's not done with it before that greedy mouth is back on him, this time sucking on his balls, a clever hand slowly stroking him to full hardness.

"What did I just say? You really are not getting into that whole submission thing." There's no bite to his words; this night is not for punishment or power play.

Still Glorfindel grabs his lover's wrists to stop him and steps away for good because he couldn't guarantee for anything otherwise. He brings Erestor's arms behind his back and binds them to his ankles with the leftover ends of the suspension ropes, in a way that forces Erestor's beautiful long legs wide open, his genitals shamelessly on display for Glorfindel's hungry eyes and the fire-heated air.

The system comes together beautifully, just like his Lórien advisor promised, with the last set of very stable ropes threaded through the suspension lines and then the ceiling at three different points. When Glorfindel jumps from the table back to the ground, his lover is encased in a firm net that urges his back into a straight line without too much pressure. Every single move of limbs, every twitch of muscle does nothing but have the rope rub against sensitive skin, without a way to escape.

Glorfindel makes sure to keep that knife ready behind him, as usual when restraints are involved – Lord Elrond would have their head if they come to him with a stupid accident once more – as he carefully moves the table away from under his lover. He still has a supporting arm around Erestor's chest first, but his lover looks and feels completely comfortable in the suspension, so he slowly dares to back away, wide-eyed glances taking in the highly arousing scene.

"Fuck, you're beautiful."

"Less talking. More touching."

Erestor is not lost enough in his lust to forget how to protest. But his voice is drowsy, his eyes still half closed. Deep, violent shivers run down his back every other second, his cock is leaking drops of white onto the blankets now spread on the ground. He tilts his head back just enough to search Glorfindel's gaze, the tip of his tongue wetting his slightly swollen lips.

"Patience, beautiful. I promised you something, didn't I?"

And that's the really tricky part about all this. But while Erestor has been busy with farewells and ceremonies earlier, Glorfindel made it to install a stable rod under the windowsill right behind Erestor's now helplessly bound body. Fastened in a foldout fashion, the thick wooden pole won't attract anyone's attention unless extended like now. It takes only a minute to fasten the new toy to its end with the protruding snaps and straps. Resting smugly against Erestor's bare behind, the promising cold sensation leaves his partner trembling and wanton.

Although he's being painfully hard himself by now, Glorfindel doesn't hurry preparing the metal surface and especially Erestor's exposed hole with a lot of their favorite oil. Only when he has three of his fingers deep inside that hot channel and Erestor still writhes back against him, panting and demanding more, Glorfindel decides, he wants to see more of that.

Grabbing the ropes on his lover's back, he slowly guides his bound form away from the slicked up toy and guides the pointed tip where it belongs with the other hand. It slips inside with no difficulty at all, Erestor's guttural groan going straight to Glorfindel's neglected cock as he slowly allows the ropes to fall back into their initial position, impaling his lover's waiting hole in the process.

The flexible length of the phallus seems to work like it should; Glorfindel can sense no discomfort or even pain from a bad angle in Erestor's very reaction. There's only lustful whimpers, useless struggling against restraints that allows the toy to drill deeper inside of him, his untouched cock leaking precum all over the place.

_Please …_

Already way too far gone for verbal communication, it takes only that little word in their bond to know how close his lover is again. The very naughty, very clear image that follows is exactly what Glorfindel has been aiming for with this whole set up. The desire to be filled from two sides.

Glorfindel's hand never leaves his lover's body as he walks around him again until it reaches Erestor's braid. He wraps it around his fingers, both to help his lover keep his head up without strain and to use him exactly how Erestor wants to be used in nights like these. When his lover's mouth is back on his own rock-hard cock, tightly sucking warmth engulfing every inch of him, he knows, he won't last for too long anymore. That's alright. Neither of them will come only once or twice tonight.

Glorfindel feeds his eager lover just enough of his length to make sure, Erestor will still be able to breathe, then he tightens his grip on his hair and pulls him forward, deeply thrusting into his throat, moaning and cursing as his lover swallows around him. His balls draw dangerously close to his body, too much heat consuming him too fast, so he relaxes his hand, allowing the ropes to swing back and impale Erestor even deeper on the toy. Glorfindel's cock never leaves his mouth before the motion brings it back close enough to his body again to take him in all the way.

When he does that for the second time, they both come, only seconds apart from each other.

Glorfindel never really goes soft in his lover's seed-filled mouth, and Erestor never stops wriggling in his ropes, fucking himself on the momentum while moaning his unbridled pleasure around Glorfindel's length until they're both close to the edge again. If they keep this up, they'll both be too sore to walk tomorrow, but Glorfindel can't bring himself to care. His fingertips gently touch the stretched lips around his erection, his eyes meeting Erestor's for a moment, and still, all he can see in Erestor's is affection, arousal and gratitude.

The tip of his lover's tongue teases his balls as he takes him in to the hilt once more, his pupils dilate even further in challenge.

_Stop holding back._

Glorfindel does.

It's less than ten minutes before Erestor has that whole considerable length of that toy buried inside of him and takes Glorfindel down his throat whole with every single swing of the ropes. When Glorfindel holds him there until he fights for air, fucking himself stupid on that phallus that moves along with every thrust of hips, he still swallows around him, spit and precum dripping down his chin, his throat, onto the blankets, soon joined by yet another load of white from his oversensitive cock.

It takes a long time that night until Erestor is truly sated and exhausted that night, and afterwards, they both sleep until the next evening, that's how fucked out they are.

Lord Elrond is nice enough not to ask, but one thing is for sure … That will be an interesting next letter sent to Lórien's leaders.


	14. Marked [Feet]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of Third Age

“I have something for you.” It takes a full ten minutes of Glorfindel awkwardly standing in front of Erestor’s desk before he can bring himself the mutter the reason for his visit.

Erestor still hardly looks from the book he’s been trying to translate for the last three hours.

“That’s really nice, Fin, but I can still feel your last _something_ on muscles I swear I didn’t have before we started sleeping with each other.”

“Not that.” A hint of offense creeps into Glorfindel’s warm, melodic voice; it _almost_ sounds sincere. “Why are you always assuming it’s about sex when I come to see you?”

Erestor looks up long enough from his quill to arch an eyebrow.

Glorfindel rolls his eyes and throws one hand up in mock-defense. “Fine. _This_ time it’s not.” With the other, he puts down a box of the same golden color as his hair down on the desk, wrapped by a black and silver gift ribbon.

“What’s that for?”

Erestor is honestly confused, enough to put the damn book down at least for a minute now after all. The Lord’s probably asleep already anyway; they’ll have to go through this damn thing tomorrow. He can basically _watch_ time running through his fingers with every passing day more. Actually, there’s no room for games right now in either of their lives.

Besides, he just can’t recall an occasion, hard as he tries. They haven’t saved each other’s ass on some battlefield lately – well, it’s not like Erestor’s would be called to any unless orcs are knocking on his damn library door. It’s the wrong time of the year for any kind of holiday in the valley, too.

And Glorfindel and him are very adamant about the two of them _not_ courting. They have never and they never will, even though, yes, over a glass of Dorwinion too much lately, they did get the crazy idea of actually getting married one day, when all this shit is over and they make their way to the west. They can talk about that again if they really make it out alive of another war.

But no sappy romance. Ever. They won’t give _that_ satisfaction to half the population of this valley who, if rumors are anything to go by, are having a damn betting pool about when the two of them will finally make it official.

It’s just sex. No obligations, no bond and _definitely_ no relationship. So, for what reason would …

 _Oh_.

“Do I want to know when last you celebrated your begetting day?” The honest bafflement on Glorfindel’s face has been replaced by vague sadness, fortunately not bordering too close to pity to mind it.

“Begetting days are for people who have a family”, Erestor states flatly. He’s ready to pick up his quill again when he sees Glorfindel’s shoulders slump, just the slightest bit, and his unearthly beautiful features harden at the same time. That’s a sight he just can’t deal with, not even when he’s really supposed to be working.

Before his lover can turn away, he gets up to lean over his desk and seeks out his lips for a quick kiss. “And you’ve been my only family since you carried my stupid ass out of that burning city. I was surprised, that’s all. We never did …”

“I know”, Glorfindel interrupts him, a little too quickly, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to another. “There’s no need to make it a habit. I just thought of this recently and … Well, today offered a good chance.”

He is _blushing_ , oh Valar, _no_. If this is yet another Mithril piercing, or even worse, a _ring_ , Erestor will just have to throw the damn thing at his head. And then bend him over the desk to fuck that nonsense out of him, until he forgets his own name and Erestor’s too, and all that whole disgusting mush neither of them ever needed.

It’s not a ring. It’s an anklet. A simple, smooth, thin silver chain with an alternating row of two different charms. One has the shape of Erestor’s family ring, a star-shaped black opal with the tiny sapphire in the middle. The other is the rayed sun of Glorfindel’s house.

Erestor swallows. Once. Again. The lump in his throat won’t go away.

“It’s breathtaking.” It really is, and no, he wouldn’t even throw it at his lover’s head if he hadn’t fallen in love with the jewel instantly. Erestor is just afraid what it’s supposed to mean. That it’s something he’s not ready for while Glorfindel suddenly seems to be, Glorfindel who always was the one of them who insisted, he’s too damaged for going steady with someone ever again …

“Why?”

“Because that it is no one’s business but ours doesn’t mean, I’m less serious. There are new rumors from the east.” Glorfindel’s eyes close for a moment, he shivers, and Erestor instinctively reaches for his hand. “You know even better than me that war is coming again. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop that now. I promised you something, and I like to think, you meant it too. I wanted you to have something to remember to take care of that stupid head of yours, even when I’m not around to make sure, it stays on your shoulders.”

Whatever it is that he can read in Erestor’s eyes must have been enough of an answer, because Glorfindel drops on the sofa and pats the place beside him. “Come.“

“You know, I’m perfectly able to dress myself.” But Erestor finally gets out from behind his desk. It’s probably about time, anyway, as little as he might like that.

“Not without the key.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Erestor stops still, his heart suddenly racing in his chest when he understands the deeper meaning of this very special gift.

They have thought about a symbol like that, sure, because they both like the idea. But neither of them can wear something openly visible, for obvious reasons. “How am I ever supposed to go to the public bathhouses again with that thing on me?”

Glorfindel glares, and Erestor’s cock suddenly is very interested in the proceedings. “If anyone gets close enough to you in a bathhouse to make out those charms, beautiful, they’ll be in way too much trouble with me for spreading rumors.”

He’s got a point, so Erestor complies. The growing tent at the front of his pants says, the sofa looks especially inviting right now anyway.

There’s a fresh bruise from where Erestor kicked one of those damn shelves yesterday, after Mithrandir’s letter arrived, and somehow, Glorfindel knows about it, though Erestor is sure he isn’t even limping. His naturally low experience of pain has gone down basically to zero in the last years. Still, he’s relieved that Glorfindel chooses his other leg to gently rest it on his thighs and free it from the boot, clever fingers opening all laces within seconds.

Erestor quietly sighs, suddenly very aware that he hasn’t gotten up from that damn chair all day. Leaning his head back on the arm rest, he allows himself to relax into his lover’s touch, startling at the foreign feeling of metal on his ankle. More of that well-known heat is blooming in his groin when he hears the nearly inaudibly click of a tiny lock.

“Beautiful.” Glorfindel’s lips graze the bridge of his foot for a second, and Erestor shivers.

Not a body part either of them usually pay much attention to. But something about the black/silver and gold contrast against his pale skin has caught his attention now. Glorfindel’s fingertips have begun softly massaging away the swelling from sitting on his damn ass for way too many weeks and months, and Erestor finds himself melting into his lover’s hands, his blood rushing through his veins a lot faster.

Of course, Glorfindel can make out the pulse under his skin or maybe he senses it in their tentative, friendly bond. Instead of setting his foot down, he really goes at it now, unyielding pressure soothing out every kink from too much tension, like Glorfindel usually does it with Erestor’s back. Slowly circling knuckles on delicate joints then straighten out the last of soreness from too much stretching to the highest book row, instead of just standing on a damn box.

It feels divine. For once, Erestor doesn’t protest when Glorfindel reaches for his other foot and his decent natural healing powers take care of the bruise there just as an afterthought, before he repeats the process.

By the time he’s finished, Erestor is not only more relaxed than the whole week, he’s also fully hard and slightly embarrassed and melting butter in his lover’s hand. At least he’s not far enough gone to not point out the unlocked library door when Glorfindel’s hand starts to wander, teasing the insides of his thighs.

“Then you better be quiet.” Glorfindel grabs him unerringly through his robe and the leather pants below, and Erestor bucks, groaning. The spot with the new ring on the underside of his length is still very sensitive, and Glorfindel _knows_.

“Just for the record ...” Glorfindel’s eyes are wide from his own growing arousal. “I _was_ thinking about getting something with a lock for up here too.” The bastard has read Erestor’s mind once more, he should have known.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Erestor half-heartedly tries to escape the hand quickly moving up and down his cock, without success.

“Don’t bet on it. But once you got my cage on, I really couldn’t let you go to the bathhouses anymore. The others are leering at you all evening as it is.”

“No one’s leering, stop being delusional.” Seriously irritated now, Erestor tries to sit up, but an almost painful pressure on his balls clearly tells him to stop. The sharp glance from his lover’s eyes has him take his hands behind his back without even an order.

“Not to your face, no, because they like their balls where they are. But you should see their eyes when your turn your back on them. Especially since we’ve put all that nice jewelry on you.” Glorfindel’s free hand wanders further up, idle fingertips tugging on the rings under Erestor’s robe that bear his name. Another detail that people would only be able to see if they ever came close enough to provoke, having the blade of a certain golden sword take their head off.

Erestor keens and whimpers, one of his heels digging into Glorfindel’s thigh. His other finds the bulge on his lover’s trousers – after all, no one said he can’t use his feet – and gently presses down.

Glorfindel shudders and only grabs his cock tighter, quickly starts stroking him in the same rhythm.

“And that’s why I can’t leave you alone without laying a few claims on you. You inspire way too much lust around here. And that beautiful body of yours belongs to me, you know.”

Erestor knows, and while he’s not quite used to it yet, his cock twitches in affirmation, precum staining the insides of his pants. It would be so easy, getting lost completely in the desire for the rest of the night … But something about his lover’s last sentences has left a tiny arrow of real anger in his heart.

“I guess, just believing me when I say that I don’t want anyone else, would be asked too much.”

It’s only meant half serious, but yet he stills and sits up with his arms awkwardly crossed on his thighs, his feet still resting comfortably on Glorfindel’s leg. The anklet glistens and flickers in the warm orange of the fire, and Erestor suddenly feels very tired.

“I should leave, Fin. I haven’t slept properly in days.”

When Glorfindel’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, there’s so much emotion in his bright eyes, so much yearning and affection that Erestor has to swallow tears for a second time tonight.

“Erestor ... You wouldn’t wear my name in half a dozen places on your body, if you weren’t the only one, I trust with all my heart, ever since Gondolin. We’ve got no arrangements, that’s all I’m saying. I’m at the borders most of the time. I wouldn’t hold it against you, if you’re in need of some distraction from time to time.”

“Like a whole chest of your toys isn’t enough?” Erestor chuckles, but his heart suddenly clenches; he feels foolish. It’s not _him_ who should be hurt over a lack of dedication. Not when apparently, he’s done nothing so far to prove that he’s being just as serious about their future.

They don’t need roses and vows and sonnets for that whole nonsense but for some commitments, words don’t suffice. Who knows that better than a diplomat?

“You know that Hobbits don’t receive gifts for their begetting days, right?”

“With all respect to your issues, you’re not _that_ much smaller than me.”

“Shut up, idiot. I’m trying to be nice for once.”

Erestor reaches down to take off his family ring, only to put it on Glorfindel’s finger instead. “You lose that out there in some orc’s guts, the next one goes through your _gwib_.”

“Not everyone’s as big a masochist as you.”

Glorfindel chuckles the suspicious glistening in his eyes away and then moans because Erestor is straddling him with his hand down his pants, and whatever they maybe should have said still gets lost in a hungry kiss.

There’s oil close by, luckily, somewhere under one of the sofa cushions, because this is not the first time the urge is suddenly so strong, neither of them can wait to get to their private chambers. Glorfindel rips the back of Erestor’s pants open because him getting up to undress would take _way_ too long, and Erestor bites down on Glorfindel’s lip so hard he draws blood. It’s too fast and too tight, but Erestor thrusts himself on every single glorious inch while he licks deeply into Glorfindel’s mouth and holds on to his hair and chases the warmth of his body in the coldness of impending new doom. And still he wants to get closer, just closer.

It’s not enough and won’t ever be before this new catastrophe is over and peace might finally come to last in these lands. Before they can take their long overdue leave.

But they’ll make do, as usual.


	15. Bite me [Knotting]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Knotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of Third Age

Erestor hated to be knotted. Sex, he liked just fine, and with heats, he could deal because they usually meant having a few days off between keeping Lord Elrond’s plague on four legs from wrecking the library and holding the Lord’s hand while he kept the last sane realm on this world together. Erestor didn’t need a partner, but sex was alright. It was energy, pleasure and oblivion.

In a society built on the concept of life bonds and population boost, that made him a loner. Which was why he had been greatly relieved when he’d found someone with the same mindset in Glorfindel. Friends by day, drinking partners in the evening and at night, when his lover’s rut or Erestor’s heat kicked in, they were lovers. That was perfectly enough.

Sometimes, they even slept with each other just for the sake of it, though they both had little patience for fumbling around with oil and mostly just ended up fucking each other’s throat. Erestor liked that. Elrond’s general was ridiculously attractive with that endless golden hair and a body sculpted probably by the Valar themselves, and their adventurous spirits were a good match.

What Erestor _didn’t_ like was being under any kind of force. Being robbed off the freedom to get back to work after getting fucked definitely belonged in that category. He didn’t mind the stretch – the Valar knew he had taken bigger things up his ass than a knot – or being pumped full of seed without a way to get rid of it. If he was honest, he liked feeling Glorfindel inside of him for days after heats. And he’d been on birth control spells all his life, so they didn’t need to worry about that either.

It was a matter of principle. Erestor just hated being trapped to his partner’s body, and having no choice about this, because the pain of unknotted heats was unbearable even on a whole truckload of herbs or a dungeon’s worth of empty wine barrels. It came with a lot of screaming, destroying furniture and abusing a lot of toys definitely not made for that purpose.

After Elrond had put his damaged body back together two times in a row, back then, after they’d first met, he’d given Erestor the choice of either looking for a partner or go back to living alone in the wilderness. Shortly after a war that had almost drowned the world in violence and slavery, Erestor had known better than keeping on trying to make it alone. He would die before he anyone would lay a claim on him, and Elrond fortunately respected that, unusual as such a life was for an Omega.

A few others then had tried; providing heat comfort was torture for an unbonded Alpha though. Even if they could keep their teeth to themselves, there had always been an annoying amount of nearness, philosophizing or emotional breakdowns in such nights. Sometimes, Erestor had seriously pondered just cutting some guy’s cock off to escape another grown-ass elf crying on his shoulder from post-coital melancholy.

Glorfindel’s bed was simply the easier alternative.

Glorfindel shared his pragmatism, and even better, he hated to talk in bed. Heck, they didn’t even really enjoy kissing or long foreplays. Erestor loved pleasuring his lover with his mouth and hands for as long as they could hold it in, and sometimes, Glorfindel even was in the mood to get fucked in that sweet ass for a while, but at some time, the scent of omega pheromones flooding one of their bedrooms was always getting too strong.

Then they got the fucking part over with, which, honestly, wasn’t too shabby an experience either, because Glorfindel had a natural talent for hammering an omega’s prostate even in the wildest mess of slick from too many months of suppressing a heat.

Also, they had found out quickly that it was easiest for both their mobility and to avoid unnecessary awkwardness when Erestor was riding Glorfindel’s cock with his back to him. With Glorfindel, he never had to be afraid that one bite of these strong teeth at a wrong moment, in a wrong place, might be too hard. To communicate, they didn’t need to look at each other anyway; the tentative mental bond that had developed between them with time, sufficed for that.

And once they had made their mess, on respectively inside heated flesh, Erestor could pass the time in a useful way and read some parchment or book while Glorfindel rested for a while until the next wave of desire hit or they were done for that round for good.

It was the best they could come up with – aside from icing each other down, maybe, and Erestor’s ass still hurt from the spanking Glorfindel had given him for even suggesting that –, so they made it work. Worst that happened was the occasional embarrassment when they were taking their games outside to a remote lake or Erestor’s private garden and someone came by to talk.

One time, shortly after that catastrophe with his wife, Elrond had been so distracted that he’d seriously not realized why Erestor was more or less comfortably perched against his lover on some bench with blankets wrapped around the most private parts, while he was ranting about some especially ridiculous trade proposal from Mirkwood in his hands.

In the end, in a not unfriendly but very clear way, Erestor had had to point out that there was no way, he could join the Lord in the Hall of Fire right now, unless Elrond wanted a naked Balrog slayer attached to his chief advisor’s ass.

The Lord had not visited them in the garden anymore since.

Recently, the situation had become less amusing and ever more annoying though. Wit war on the horizon yet _again_ , Erestor spent his days either in meetings or in his library until he fell asleep on his desk. The last thing he needed right now was his body forcing him to roll in the sheets with someone.

Sadly, Glorfindel knew his cycle way too well to be fooled by excuses or by Erestor trying to schedule him out of the city at certain dates. He watched the whole thing for half a year, then he broke into Erestor's chambers one morning to tell him, he would burn his whole stash of suppressant herbs if Erestor didn't let his next heat run course.

"I'm fine", Erestor protested weakly. Unfortunately, suppressant couldn't take care of _everything_. His cock got hard just by looking at his partner in those damn too tight leather pants. He called himself to order and crossed his arms in defiance.

"Even if you were … And just so you know, the Lord asked me to come here because you've been too distracted to keep track of your meeting schedule for three weeks now. His problem, though, not mine." Glorfindel threw a meaningful glance at the balcony and the herb patch in question there.

"What is it then?"

"That you become an insufferable asshole, the longer you go without sex."

"Fuck you." Erestor's hands turned to fists instinctively, a sight that unfortunately sent a cloud of pheromones from his partner straight up his nostrils. His cock commented on that with going from interested to fully in on the action, and Glorfindel groaned.

"Another time. Recruits are waiting." He didn't turn away quickly enough to hide the prominent bulge in his own pants. "I mean it. If I get back here in a week and find, you've been drinking that damn tea again, I'll put a collar on you and tie you to the bed for the next month." He pretended not to sense the rush of Omega pheromones aimed right back at him at that announcement.

"Why is this any of your business? I don't belong to you, you know." Erestor had already given up the fight, truthfully, he just liked to be a brat when he was needy.

A small tinge of red and blue flashed through the unreliable connection vibrating between them, but they both pretended it hadn't happened. There was no time for anger and regret right now either.

"Maybe because you've already flooded my bed last time? You keep that up, I'll be able to fuck you with my knot, not only my _gwib_ , and I wouldn't even need to put my fist up your pretty ass first."

"All I'm hearing is good", Erestor grumbled, still not quite ready to give in, to take orders. That just wasn't him, Glorfindel had always known that. "What if I say no?"

Glorfindel looked back over his shoulder with a smirk, heated eyes promising that at least, Erestor wouldn't regret the time spent with him when it came to it, no matter how much he might mourn its loss. "You won't. Unless you find out where I've hidden your toys or accept the ones I'll give you for your self-chosen suffering. Want to try out how it feels, spending a day in debates about safety with the Lord and his father-in-law while you have a spiked toy the length of my forearm inside you?"

"Get out before I'll try out some of _mine_ on you. I'm talking about those with the blades and the pointy ends, by the way."

But Erestor's voice was trembling, and not from wrath. He made it to hold on until the door closed behind his lover, then he ripped his pants open and got himself off in three hard strokes, coating the insides of the fabric with a sticky white mess.

Oh, he was _so_ fucked. And he wasn't even running a hint of a fever yet.

Erestor should have known something was off from that conversation already. But two days later, his heat hit him like being floored by a carriage, and he forgot all about it. By the time Glorfindel finally entered his bedroom, he was an incoherent mess, too out of it even to be annoyed that of course, his lover had been right once again.

Glorfindel was naked before he reached his bed and inside him before they exchanged a word, and that took at least the edge off. But it wasn't enough, it was never enough. So Erestor shoved him on his back with both hands against his chest, turned and swung his leg over Glorfindel's hips, impaling himself on his cock again, gladly nuzzling against his broad chest when his lover sat up to wrap his arms around him from behind. Glorfindel's slow caresses on his chest grounded him, the kneading of strong fingertips on his nipples kept him on the edge, and the sensation of a hot, wet mouth on the tip of his ear had him come on the spot.

Glorfindel followed soon after, his face still buried against Erestor's neck, a low hum of arousal in his chest when the familiar swelling at the base of his cock grew larger, slowly urging Erestor's slick-wet hole further open to accommodate.

Then he murmured something into Erestor's ear that he could impossible have gotten right.

"Excuse me?" Erestor was still out of breath and turned on and not even remotely sated enough yet, to even think about picking up his book about Men dwellings in the east again, so he just turned his head with a frown.

"I said, we should get married."

Erestor chuckled – and winced. "You know, it's highly unfair to make someone laugh who's sitting on your knot."

He tried to shift his hips into a more comfortable position, in vain. How many times had he told Glorfindel not to _move_ once they were at it? Now he'd spend the next 20 minutes at least in the way too tight embrace of an obviously delusional Alpha.

"I'm serious."

"I was afraid you'd say that. Give it an hour, then our hormone levels will fall, and you can think clearly again." Erestor patted Glorfindel's thigh, with half a grin on his face that still looked forced. Had he really not seen this coming or just hidden for too long in his damn library?

"Hasn't happened for the last two centuries." Glorfindel blushed a little when Erestor's eyes went wide, but he didn't look away. His arms only tightened their grip on Erestor's hips as if he could be going anywhere, even if he wanted to. But he kept his mouth far away from Erestor's neck, and there was no blind greed, no ruthless demand on his face, in his soul. Only yearning.

"Don't look at me like that. It would be mostly practical. Your hormone peaks would flatten, and we would be out for only a few hours every month instead of days. You said it yourself, you'll be needed in the valley as much as possible soon. And war is a time of excessive emotion, Erestor." For a moment, his eyes darkened. Absently, he brushed Erestor's hair from his face to get a better look at him, two fingertips playing with a raven strand of hair. "There'll be a lot of unhinged Alphas around between battles. It would be nice not to worry about you when I'm not around."

"I don't need anyone to protect me," Erestor snapped, tempted to try and just pull away from his lover's intimate conquering. He wondered if that could hurt more than realizing that something he valued very much was about to be lost.

"How about someone to ground you then? I know _I_ need that. Have been for a while." Glorfindel's knuckles on his forehead smoothed out the lines of anger and confusion there. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

Erestor wanted to say yes.

Then he remembered.

He remembered Glorfindel building huge foldable trays both for his own and Erestor's bed, for Erestor to work on after their couplings. And how he always bought Erestor's current workload with him when his heat started and he was too flushed and despaired even to get out of bed.

He remembered trying to tell himself that his lover was sleeping while he was busy with letters or reports then. As if he didn't realize, the adorable little snore was missing that Glorfindel made when he was actually resting next to him. He remembered pushing away that it made him feel appreciated and secured, feeling his lover's eyes on him while he made the best of being trapped, and how he had never turned to dare around, afraid of what he might see in these beautiful big eyes.

And he remembered the way Glorfindel just _gnarled_ at every Alpha in near proximity whenever Erestor's hormones spiked up.

His cock remembered too, he was already rock-hard again.

"Fuck." He said it with feeling.

"Just think about it." Glorfindel pressed his lips to his neck, to the swollen mating gland underneath, and Erestor shuddered, suddenly wanting very much to know how it would feel. "I don't want you to make any decisions in bed. I didn't mean to ask while we're knotted, I'm sorry. It's just hard to think about anything else but fucking you for the rest of your life, when I have the most attractive backside in the world right in front me."

"No kids," Erestor interrupted his rambling, before he even knew he was about to say something.

It was Glorfindel's turn to blink at him, dumbfounded.

Erestor sighed and shrugged and leaned his head back against his lover's shoulder, another chuckle on his lips. This time, it didn't hurt; he was already far too turned on for that again.

No, doing this while they were knotted was probably not the best idea, but the truth was that with the end of his heat, nothing would change about this sudden wonder, relief and longing filling his heart, in a place where ever since he'd lost is family, there had been nothing but black- and emptiness. That pain, he would never get over, but that didn't mean, he couldn't try and make at least one person in his life happy.

Also, Glorfindel was right: It would save them a lot of trouble.

"I'm not having kids. I would ruin all of our lives before they could walk or talk. If you can live with having to deal with me alone for the rest of eternity …"

A far too soft bite on his neck had him moan and shiver, new streams of slick dripping down the back of his thighs, over Glorfindel's tightly swollen balls. Well, he could probably forget about getting off that knot anytime soon. Erestor found, today, he didn't really mind. "Do that again?"

"Wedding first. Bonding afterwards."

But Glorfindel did suck down on that evil little spot, making Erestor thrash around and keen, letting him feel everything he would soon have, not just once a month anymore. He was moving inside of him again, Erestor's hands clawing down on his thighs as they neared another quick, intense height.

"By the way, do you think you might let me top you for once when I'm your husband?"

Erestor wasn't too lost in bliss again to not dig his elbow into Glorfindel's ribs. "Shut up and fuck me."

Glorfindel did.


	16. Sitting in the summer sun [Exhibitionism]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Exhibitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age
> 
> This oneshot was inspired by this beautiful drawing (had to change the protagonists though, obviously): https://elfinfen.tumblr.com/post/175869526362

"Can you maybe not do that?"

"Do what?" For a change, Glorfindel looks honestly puzzled, innocent almost.

Which only makes it _worse_.

Erestor glares at him from his elevated position on the paddock fence and shifts his weight to find a more comfortable position. Perching on the top bar has not been the smartest idea of the day. Now he's fighting a raging hard-on under too tight breeches and has nothing to hide it because the last days' inhumanly high temperatures didn't encourage putting on a robe over a sweat-soaked tunic.

And there's nowhere to escape. The meadow is filled with dozens of other soldiers following Glorfindel's example of decorating their horses for tomorrow's guard of honor, to welcome the Mirkwood delegation. Which of course is only an excuse to delay training until the unusual heat, annoying even for a resilient Firstborn body to bear, will have lessened.

Erestor saw a convenient chance to talk to his part time lover about tomorrow's proceedings before he got here. By all means, they _should_ make a proper schedule; if Erestor will be forced for a week to watch King Thranduil and Imladris' general hold millennia-old dick measuring contests, it will turn his heat-induced headache into a month's worth of migraine, and he's not here for that.

But somehow, he forgot what he came for the moment he spotted his lover braced back against the fence like this, clothed in nothing but loose breeches, the same sitting so low on his narrow hips that Erestor can see the muscles framing his half-bared loins dance, every time his lover stretches. And the steeled tendons of his arms twitch, whenever Glorfindel turns to the side to do another of Asfaloth's braids or tenderly fondle his stallion's head where it's trustfully resting on his thigh. Glorfindel's skin is a salt-covered shine, from where his neck is free from his thick golden curls thanks to a messy bun, down to where the bottom fence bar just barely hides the swell of his ass. Occasional stray drops collect in the deep lines of his chest, and he doesn't bother wiping them off.

Erestor wants to lick up every single one of them. He wants to count and kiss the annoyingly cute freckles the sun brought out on those beloved broad shoulders, one by one. It should by all laws of nature be far too hot to imagine, pulling down those damn pants all the way and sucking his lover off for every curious pair of eyes nearby to see, before sinking down on that pretty cock, riding Glorfindel back against that fence until they're both a moaning mess … Unfortunately, Erestor's body has never been too smart about not getting needy when this damn warrior is involved.

He's pretty sure, Glorfindel asked him something, but he's too busy not coming in his pants to answer.

Heat suddenly glowing inside his head joins the one on his skin and in his veins, their instable mental bond flaring to life, gold and royal blue flowing into the silver and obsidian of his own soul.

_If you keep on thinking so loud, you might give me ideas. Sure you want to risk that?_

Erestor's hand clenches around the parchment in its hand, leaving wet fingerprints. Well, that's one schedule he'll have to write new. He can't find it in him to mind.

_Don't think for a second I wouldn't eat you alive right now if I could._

To the voice inside his head, surprisingly clear images are added. Too many peaceful summers in Imladris at a stretch apparently improve their mind speak abilities. Or maybe they're just both hungry for each other, after weeks of getting no chance to meet for one of their casual nights.

The pent up arousal doesn't exactly get better by the fantasy Glorfindel is providing Erestor with, of two half clothed elves making out right here on that damn meadow.

_What's stopping you?_

_That I really hate horse hair in my mouth? Also, official Imladris order no. 257. You remember that one? Pretty sure, we're the reason it was created. No sex in public and all._

Erestor tries to shut his lover out because he's desperately hard by now and has no idea how in the world he should get back to the palace without attracting unwanted attention. The images before his half closed lids only turn clearer instead. He can swear he can _taste_ his lover's sweet scent on his tongue, feel the skin of his ass tingle from strong hands grabbing him just a little too tightly as they kiss, tongues wrestling, mouths panting, the need for oblivion and satisfaction growing with every rutting of hips.

Valar, it's been too long.

Instead of heeding Erestor's pleading expression, Glorfindel reaches for a bowl with half-melted ice cubes next to him in the grass and draws one over the side of his neck, the pulse of the vein there, pretending for the audience to seek relief from the stinging rays of sun.

In Erestor's head, he takes the cube between his lips and cover's every inch of his heaving chest with cold moisture and the soothing warm touch of his tongue alike.

 _Pretty sure, the exact term was_ no disturbance of common decency _. If I ripped that tunic and those breeches off of you right now? Showing off your perfect skin, those pretty jewels on your nipples and your_ gwib _, the way you move? I assure you, not a single elf on this meadow would feel_ disturbed _._

_I really don't know where you get your delusions from._

Erestor has stopped feeling the unpleasant burning on his skin, or considering how many of the elves nearby might wonder why he clings to that damn fence bar so tightly, shaking like a leave in the wind. All he can feel is a distant memory of that damn ice cube in his lover's clever mouth when it closes around his erection, firmly sucking heat battling pricks of pain on some his most sensitive spots. Another, bigger ice cube finds its way between his butt cheeks, pushed inside without a warning, and then another one. Erestor _keens_ , not sure the sound was truly only in his head.

_Shut up and keep working. People are staring._

Glorfindel regards him with a smug grin and bends the knee that Asfaloth is not lazily occupying, the dark fabric of his pants encasing the round of his ass tighter, thick muscles thoughtlessly tensing and releasing as his nimble fingertips get busy with the next braid.

_Sadistic bastard._

Erestor resists the urge to reach between his legs and give that torturous desire in his loins the much needed relief, opens the damn parchment again instead. It takes him a full five minutes before he realizes, he's holding it upside down.

By then, the invisible lover in his fantasies has bent his body over the fence and used a few snapped hair ties to immobilize him to one of the bars by the Mithril rings in his nipples. The last of resistance is coaxed out of him by a greedy tongue buried against his ass, soon following the way of the cubes from before.

His muscles clench around the nothing of his fantasies and meet the resistance of memory. A non-existent hand rubs up and down the length of his neglected cock until he has to lean forward on his seat, crossing his arms on his knees because it has to show up to the other side of the valley by now, how turned on he is.

Then the Glorfindel sitting before him slurps the rest of that damn ice cube noisily between his lips, and Erestor comes on the spot.

When he can think clearly again, his clothes are soaked through, and the insides of his breeches a sticky mess. Glorfindel is standing right before him, pretending to be fumbling with one of his documents, while shielding his still trembling form from the others.

A tender smile curls on his lips when Erestor blushes for a whole different reason now and murmurs an embarrassed thanks. The fact that they long decided, some things aren't worth talking about before they might one day have enough time and freedom for that, can't change that they both _know_.

"Shall we get to that schedule then, chief advisor?"

Erestor shakes his head briefly and swings his legs to the other side of the bar, slipping down on the other side, turned away from the last gossip-thirsty eyes. "I just found out, I still need to work on some of that. We'll talk it over tonight in my chambers."

It's not a question. Just in case the tone in his voice hasn't made that absolutely clear, in his head, he sends Glorfindel a very unmistakable picture of a certain Balrog slayer tied to his bed spread eagle, a sizable phallus up his behind, sun-kissed skin marked with perfectly parallel welts of their favorite whip, from his lover's neck down to the crease of his thighs.

Glorfindel's rude curses in his mind follow him as he leaves.


	17. Feel free to leave [Blackmail]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Blackmail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

Erestor has been refusing to sleep for weeks, and somehow, that's become Glorfindel's problem.

After three fruitless discussions in a row, he loses his patience and lures Erestor into their chambers – his own, actually, but at some point in the last decades, they more or less forgot that distinction –, on the pretense of a few minutes of fun.

Erestor probably only comes along in the first place because he thinks, the energy of some passion will keep him further awake. It's a nice but very quick, efficient matter; Erestor doesn't even take his damn tunic off, he just unbuttons it and discards his breeches before he kneels down on the bed, his thoughts visibly everywhere but here.

Glorfindel gives him all the reasons he can think of, to stay and to forget the pointless endeavor of making his way through every single book about the Second Age, at least for a few days. He's spoiling Erestor's beautiful pale backside and legs with a lot more kisses and caresses than usual, licks and thrusts into his twitching, hungry hole with his tongue until he feels numb and then fucks his lover into incoherence.

For a moment, he's optimistic that it might have worked, but Erestor already gets up again while there's still drops of white dripping from his well-used hole. He thanks him with a polite smile and reaches down for his breeches, murmuring something about three more works he needs to analyze tonight.

Glorfindel is quicker even in his post orgasmic haste and pulls him back on the bed unceremoniously. Holding his wrists tight easily with one hand, he reaches under the bed and cuffs his lover, choosing to ignore his protest. It's obviously time to haul out the big swords.

One arm wrapped around Erestor's delicate lower arms, Glorfindel directs him to a corner of the room where a long dark curtain has hidden so far that he's wisely prepared an emergency plan beforehand. Now he reveals the sturdy big chest bolted to the floor that he's used a few times already to immobilize his lover, covered in comfortable thick velvet and equipped with a holder for certain tools on top. Today Glorfindel has attached an especially evil phallus to it.

Erestor's eyes turn wide when he sees it, and he starts struggling again. It's one of those very creative toys that their noble kink friend of Lórien has been gifting them with a while ago, and so far, Erestor has never been willing to try it. Today he's too tired for real resistance, and turned on by Glorfindel's fierceness. He doesn't put up enough of a fight with either words or actions to not get him to straddle the piece of furniture. As loose as he still is, it's easy to coax him into impaling himself on the toy.

After the initial doubts, Erestor seems to enjoy it just fine ... until he feels that those spikes on the phallus are in truth barbs. Made of very soft and pliant material of course, and blunt enough to not pose the threat of injury, but still uncomfortable. Glorfindel should know – he never puts anything up Erestor's backside that he's not tried himself.

Which is why he's very well aware that getting up from this thing with bound arms will be a challenge. Especially because while it's not too thick, it is so long that Erestor has to feel it all the way deep in his guts, the strategically, irregularly placed barbs placed along the whole length turning every inch into torture.

And that's before Glorfindel ties Erestor down additionally with a thin chain threaded through his nipple rings and the ring on the underside of his cock, the end fastened to a loop in the chest. The whole maneuver is accompanied by very colorful curses in two elven languages that Glorfindel speaks and a lot more probably very rude insults in three he's never heard of.

When he's done, he walks back to the bed and drops on it with a satisfied sigh. "Good night."

"This is not funny."

"Do you see me laughing?" Glorfindel yawns into his elbow. It's not even faked. As Lord Elrond's general, it's been a few exhausting months for him as well, ever since Mithrandir showed up with those exceptionally disconcerting news about the new danger from the east.

"If you refuse to sleep, frankly, that's your problem, not mine. But I promised the Lord, you wouldn't be back in the library tonight."

Why exactly providing that is his job, Glorfindel's still not quite certain – what exactly is so hard to understand about "I'm only sleeping with him, we're _not_ courting"? –, but no one else would have the courage to do this. And this eccentric recluse has grown too dear to his heart to lose him to something as trivial as weakness and inattentiveness in one of those battles possibly coming their way soon.

"I don't belong to you, Fin. You can't give me orders. Untie me. Now." They've reached the stage where his lover is seriously pissed.

Still pretending to be dozing off, Glorfindel very much focuses on every nuance in his voice, and also on the vague emotions he can sense in their weird, unreliable emotional bond, to make sure, this thing doesn't go from games and their usual metaphorical dick measuring contest to a serious conflict. Missing consent is not something he accepts in his bed. And he rather not first wait for the word or gesture to stop all of this at once, that they have agreed on for such cases.

"I don't see your problem." Out of these thoughts, he turns his head enough to raise an eyebrow at his lover. "You can leave anytime. And there's a knife for the cuffs on the shelf right behind you."

Only by getting to his feet, Erestor would put so much strain on his piercings that escaping would be really unpleasant. If he makes it that far at all. And Glorfindel has looped the chain in such a way on purpose that makes it impossible for his lover to estimate if the length will suffice. He can only try, and if he finds out that he can't get up far enough, lower himself onto that sweet little toy again.

Not to mention that by now, he should start to feel that not only Glorfindel has coated said toy with the stinging nettle oil Erestor hates so much, but also quickly spread some on his nipples and his still sensitive cock before he's left him.

The quiet moans from his lover's lips become more frequent already; he seriously starts to fight the nasty bondage now. The well-shaped muscles of his gracile thighs dance as he slowly pushes him up an inch or two but immediately drops back down, grimacing.

"Fin, seriously, you can't do that. I've got to work, damnit! We're at the edge of a new war …"

"And you're of no help to anyone in it if you keep on blacking out on the breakfast meeting table. We need you with a clear mind. Since you seem to be unable to grasp that simple concept, I have to help you out."

Glorfindel lazily blinks back at him, not even bothering to try and hide the way he's rutting his quickly growing erection into the mattress. This really is a sight to behold. "But I'm not unreasonable. If you can stay right there for half an hour without begging for me to untie you, I'll let you go. If not, I'll free you in an hour, and you're going to stay here for the next two days. And don't think I'm above chaining you to the bed."

"Blackmail is very unbecoming for a Balrog slayer."

"Tactical warfare, but since haven't hold a sword in decades, I'll forgive your confusion. Will you shut up now or do I have to gag you? I can still hear you plead with a metal phallus between your lips, you know."

Erestor is of the opinion, he's talked enough for now.

For the first ten minutes, he tries to get up, groaning with discomfort but also with remaining lust. And from the enjoyment of intense sensations that they've both shared from the start, when the barbs irritate his insides, the oil burning in an increasing number of pressure marks, his nipples starting to take an aggressive shade of red, just like his half hard cock.

Then he gives in and starts waiting, tries to sit as calmly as possible for the next ten minutes, to prove that he's the more stubborn one of the two of them. His hips are rolling uncontrolled though, his cock is straining against his leg. He's nearly hyperventilating from trying so very hard to keep his breath slow and shallow, to deal with the burning and the unfulfilled desire.

It's a losing game. Shortly before the end of the time limit, he's a writhing mess. The chest rumbles from his jerky movements again and again but doesn't budge an inch so he keeps falling forward, whimpering, or arching his back breathlessly. Incoherent noises come from his lips, his nipples are visibly swollen, his jet black hair is a sweaty, messy mat against his back. Every smallest move on the phallus has him scream out by now. More than once, he's trying to get his overstimulated, stretched opening away from the rough fabric of the surface, only to fall back even harder then when the barbs torture his channel that must be burning like fire at this point.

The " _Please_ " in the end is a broken, ashamed, resigned sound, but not an angry one.

Glorfindel makes very sure to treat all of the swollen and chafed spots on and inside of his lover with generously applied healing salve, after he's opened the chain and gently freed him from his little prison. He feels a hint of bad conscience when Erestor yelps piteously in his ear, the barbs once again grazing every single of his most sensitive places when Glorfindel pulls him up … Only his lover is still steel-hard.

Only when Erestor is lying next to him somewhat calmly then, still aroused but too exhausted to demand anything, Glorfindel gently puts his hand around him, still slick with salve.

Erestor stops him though. "Not like this." His eyes yearningly turn to Glorfindel's behind. This time, his plea is rough, lewd, it has Glorfindel's cheeks flush at once.

Unfortunately, the kind of oil that he wouldn't feel for the next two weeks, is on the other end of the room. "Can I trust you to not run when I turn my back on you?"

"Do you think me dishonorable? You won." Erestor still sounds sullen, but in his eyes, challenge is glistening, the wish for retaliation. Glorfindel better watches out his own backside tomorrow.

For the moment, he leaves said body part to his lover gladly, because damnit, he's so turned on himself after watching the whole scene unfold that he nearly comes on the spot when he sinks down on Erestor's cock. A surprised, annoyed hiss escapes him when Erestor grabs his cock, only to slide on an iron ring on it and over his balls, a toy he quickly seems to have dug out from under the pillow when Glorfindel looked away.

When will he finally learn not to underestimate this elf?

Erestor contently purrs into his ear after he's managed to grab Glorfindel's wrists as well and bring them behind his back, binding them in a flash with one of the cloths that always lay around somewhere in this – their – bed as well. Erestor keeps him close to his chest then, his hips rolling in a way that has Glorfindel see stars. One of his hands tightly comes down Glorfindel's bare behind, so his muscles clench up even tighter and he gives a quiet scream, thrusting down his hips, searching for a release that just receded into the far distance.

"I'll gladly stay for a night or two, thanks for asking. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Glorfindel has a funny feeling, he will be the one not able to leave this bed for days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on the sexual techniques mentioned in this chapter: Irritable lube is not advised for beginners and definitely not without warning the partner beforehand, as the use is numbered among tunnel games. Besides, always keep an eye on the ingredients and don't mix lube yourself unless you know what you're doing, as unsafe substances in orifices can cause serious/unwanted/permanent damage. Always be safe when you practice BDSM.


	18. Survivors [Ritual]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

Gondolin is never as near as on days of dagger training.

Daggers aren't Glorfindel's preferred weapons; he's always been a master of the sword. But he's also Lord Elrond's general and responsible for whipping every of his soldiers into shape, so he's got to master every weapon of war at least to the level of being able to properly teach others. That means training.

Wielding daggers is not a fight, though, as he's told Erestor countless times. It's a dance.

It's _their_ dance.

The whole thing started in the old realm, when Glorfindel took it upon himself to train a scrawny scribe, no one else believed in. Erestor always felt way more at home in the House of the Golden Flower than with his family, and his trainer's wife wasn't an obstacle. After all, Glorfindel's love life has never been exactly conventional. When they started sleeping with each other, merely letting off steam, Glorfindel's wife was happy for her lover to have found someone meeting his extremer desires, and when the mood was right, from a dark corner, she even liked to watch them spar, drink and fuck. Not necessarily in that order.

Sometimes, Erestor was the one who watched.

After a while, Glorfindel officially allowed him in his private garden, so he didn't have to hide anymore, under the condition that he made himself useful. Erestor never minded. Devotion comes to him naturally as long as this particular elf is involved, and servicing Glorfindel in training and battle was an honor, not humiliation.

Besides, at the end of those sessions, there was always an especially passionate fuck waiting.

None of that was ever meant to last of course. After they first lost the life and the kid, and then the city, and then Glorfindel himself, Erestor actually was sure that those afternoons of admiration, dedication and satisfaction had burned to ashes as well, even after Glorfindel was sent back to him then. At that point, it was long clear that there'll always be reasons for fighting on this world; moreover, the two of them had just found a new home with challenging purpose in Elrond's valley and were older and wiser now.

Then the kid showed up at some point, and frankly, he's been a pain in the ass from the start.

As far as Erestor was concerned back then, this new, reborn Glorfindel was way too busy and emotionally damaged to dwell in a long-gone past.

That was until a few centuries later, he showed up in Erestor's library one evening, after a costly battle at the gates, bloodstained and angered, pale to the point of total exhaustion, and Erestor urged him down on the couch in his office, to get him to sleep, laying down with him to hold him down when he wouldn't listen. Next thing he knew was being flattened on the soft cushions, a pillow between his teeth to keep the noise to a minimum, and his old trainer pounding him back to the First Age. He came four times that night, and some of the stains he never got out of the black leather.

Nowadays, it's like nothing changed; there's still no need for bonds or feelings going beyond friendship and mutual respect and appreciation, and they still complement each other just fine.

Erestor doesn't get around to train much these days, but occasionally, Glorfindel still makes sure that he'll be able to hold a sword straight, should the dark creatures ever overrun the valley limits. Erestor on his part keeps Glorfindel's temper in check and him and his troops alive when there's a hard decision to make.

And when the time is right and they both get a few hours to breathe between their duties, they celebrate their old ritual, to honor the past and cleanse their minds.

It took them a few decades to find the right spot. They don't mind gossiping eyes or curious ears when they're too wound up to make it to one of their quarters, but Gondolin belongs only to them.

The clearing in that one fir forest is located far enough from the city to not fear strollers, yet close enough to get back in case of emergency. Big enough to move, uncomfortable enough with thorn-covered bushes and lots of stinging nettles to not attract tourists.

It's perfect.

It always starts the same, with the braiding. Since the Balrog, Erestor refuses to let Glorfindel enter _any_ kind of fighting situation with his hair worn down, and Glorfindel has seen him break down from a certain memory often enough to indulge him. Besides, they both enjoy it equally. Erestor loves the silky feeling of hip-length golden curls between his slowly working hands …

And Glorfindel enjoys the way, Erestor presses his hips into his broad back while he works, making him feel how hot he is for him already. When they're both horny enough, Glorfindel reaches back and gets him to come in his pants with just a few strokes. But most days, they just enjoy each other's closeness and the anticipation of what's to come.

On a richly embroidered white cloth, Erestor then spreads the variety of weapons he's brought – some new, some reforged, some sharpened, all of them ready for the deadliest hand of these realms to try them out – while Glorfindel stretches. He hangs a variety of artificial enemies and obstacles from some trees, some high enough to require a lot of climbing and balancing, some made of wood so massive, it takes a lot of strength to hack it to pieces.

Every now and then, he risks a side-glance, because Glorfindel's ass is a masterpiece of the Valar, and seeing him bent over in tight leather breeches has Erestor turned on before they even got started.

When they're both ready, he kneels down next to the prepared armory and chooses the first blades to offer.

The position is not _necessarily_ required, admittedly, but when they started this, Erestor quickly found out that making himself as small as possible is a smart idea when a supernatural fast, highly skilled force of nature moves in immediate proximity to his unprotected body. And this is the fastest way to get up if required.

That it gets Glorfindel hard in seconds to see him on his knees is really just a bonus.

The uneven ground pressing uncomfortably through his thin breeches keeps him alert even in his growing arousal, the tingle and burn from numbing limbs drowned out by the heat in his mid-section, the moment, his lover takes the first of blades off of his hands, lust-addled bright eyes meeting dark ones, and gets to work.

It's a dance indeed, the way, his lover spins, runs, slices and ruins whatever is in his way, sometimes with his bare hands. Glorfindel has always been lethal, but what the Valar sent back is a living, breathing weapon, the silver shining blades only an extension of hands that can snap an orc's neck merely as an afterthought.

It never takes long until Glorfindel gets rid of his tunics even on cloudy days. But not even the occasional drop of sweat glistening in the deep lines of his abs and between his straining shoulder blades betrays a hint of exhaustion.

It's _heat_.

There's no music, safe for the reminder of the battle flutes and orc drums in Gondolin in their ears, but a strange kind of rhythm guides every of Glorfindel's jumps and spins, leading him to duck to dodge and spin in time whenever he comes too close to one of the falling obstacles or dummies, or when a razor-sharp half-withered twig threatens to pierce his flesh.

Except for the two dozen times when he comes to the edge of the clearing to get a new set of daggers, he never opens his eyes.

Finally, the cloth is empty, and Glorfindel drops the last two weapons beside Erestor in the grass, for him to clean them in the small stream nearby like the others … afterwards. Only now, his chest is heaving a little faster, his tensed fists shaking, the rest of his clothes drenched. When he finally opens his eyes, the memory has left, along with the helplessness and the anger about new conflicts, new blood on the horizon.

The impatient snap of his fingers rings in the second round of training.

It always takes Erestor a moment to move on knees that have become stiff. But every discomfort is forgotten as soon as he kneels in the middle of that cloth, taking his rightful place as his lover's living, breathing tool, maybe his most beloved one, and Glorfindel buries his hand in his hair. His lover is hard enough to close his mouth around him through his pants, and Glorfindel's melodious moan is the best reward for the efforts of the afternoon.

Erestor keeps his hand on his back like he's supposed to, just spreads his legs further once Glorfindel has his breeches open and pulls his mouth onto his reddened, throbbing cock. He wills himself to relax his throat and lets himself be fucked. He drowns in the sweet smell of his lover with his face pressed flat against Glorfindel's loins, swallowing around him until his lover screams out, and savors every drop of salt he sucks from the leaking tip, his eyes never leaving his lover's.

With Glorfindel's tender thumb wiping away the tears of bliss and effort from his cheeks, he's pretty sure, life in the west can't be any better than this.

Sometimes his lover wants to come like this, fast and deep, and sometimes, he gets creative afterwards with how to repay Erestor for his services – his lover knows his masochistic streak very well by now. Erestor has come all over himself more than once with the blunt handle of a dagger up his behind or stinging nettles torturing his most sensitive places.

Today, Glorfindel doesn't seem to be in a sadistic mood. He pulls back before Erestor can swallow him down his throat next and orders him to strip, unrestrained arousal coloring his voice hoarse.

"Hands and knees."

His lover is audibly pleased to find Erestor perfectly prepared already when he kneels down behind him. The sizable phallus keeping him ready is removed gently enough and thrown to the side all the more carelessly, landing somewhere between metal with a clunk. Then his lover enters him with one long thrust, and they both sigh in need. The day has been too long to hold back for long this time, and that's completely alright too. This is only about release.

When they're close, Glorfindel sits back and pulls Erestor up with him, so he ends up impaled on this thick, long cock, trapped, with Glorfindel heavily bracing himself at the back of his knees, hips and cock twitching, his hole stretched to its limits around his lover, weakly fluttering as he writhes and groans.

"You're mine." Glorfindel nibbles and sucks on his ear, one of his hands tightly wrapping around the base of his cock to keep him from both moving and coming, until Erestor begs. The other hand finds one of his nipple rings with the marking of Glorfindel's house burned on the backside and _tugs_ , and Erestor screams so loudly, he's sure they'll still hear down in the valley. "Tell me who you serve."

"You … I'm yours, only yours …" It's part of their game and part of their roles, but that doesn't make it any less true, and they both know, and it never mattered.

Erestor cries out in relief when Glorfindel lets go off him and coats himself and his lover in thick stripes of white while he feels Glorfindel pulsate deep inside of him, flooding his insides with his seed.

It's getting dark before they can bring themselves to move. They're equally fucked out, heavy with tiredness and sore but wholly content, occasionally smiling at each other while Glorfindel helps Erestor clean up the mess they've left on the whole clearing.

Until next time.

Gondolin is long lost and buried, and neither of them is what they once were. But sometimes, they just need to remember something that is not only grief and flame.

For survivors, Erestor sometimes thinks, they're doing just fine.


	19. Little accidents [Twincest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Twincest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age
> 
> I really cheated with that prompt, because I didn't have any real twins ready to make this work, because of the whole being exclusive thing. It's more of a clone/doppelganger prompt, strictly spoken.

No one knows what happened exactly when the warriors come back from the outer borders; all they know is, the orc host was a lot larger than expected and that the troops got in trouble. In spite of Mithrandir's help no less, the wizard conveniently happening to be around for the turn of the year. There’s a lot of injured, two casualties and …

And some say, there's _something_ wrong with the general, but no one knows what in the world is going on.

Erestor is _furious_ by the time they finally allow him into the halls of healing.

Upon entering the treatment room, he stops dead in his tracks. How much wine did he have last night again? Maybe someone's poisoned his afternoon tea, though he can't recall having pissed of anyone _that_ much lately. Or he's been out there with the soldiers for a change and got himself into trouble. Some kind of pain delirium, sure …

It must be, because he’s pretty sure, there’s two versions of Glorfindel sitting before him in those beds, both looking equally weary from various minor wounds and exhausted to the bone.

Mithrandir is standing in a corner while Elrond tends to the … well, _both_ of the patients, looking mortified, and that is truly unsettling, because Erestor has never seen Mithrandir mortified before.

Turns out, the Istar might have smoked a little too much of the Halfling pipe weed he loves so much. Or maybe he’s becoming just as old as he looks and starts to mess up that powerful magic of his. Somehow, he’s managed to hit Glorfindel with a spell originally aimed at a bunch of arrows, meant to help the archers out who were running out of ammo, by doubling the number of missiles and now …

Now they have a huge problem.

Once Erestor doesn’t feel like choking Mithrandir anymore – not for a lack of trying, but that duel would be embarrassingly uneven, and he’s not in a particular mood for an unpleasant conversation with Mandos about his temper –, he turns to his part time lover.

Well, to both of them. He does his best to try and soothe that unsettled aura, bordering on frightened, from Glorfindel’s soul. From _one_ of those two at least. His success is limited, his words fail him. He’s not exactly sure whom even to talk to, seeing as they’re both the same versions, a mind split in half, a spirit now living in two bodies. Sure, they could just try to get rid of one of those elves, but there’s no telling at that point what that will do the other and …

Oh, Erestor is so going to kill this foolish Istar, once he made this catastrophe right.

At least Mithrandir promises, he’ll come up with a spell to merge the bodies back together by tomorrow, then he fucks off to the library.

Elrond stays just long enough to slap a last bandage on one of Glorfindel's four arms and to instruct Erestor to keep all of this under wraps for now, then he turns to leave as well, with a bunch of excuses that all boil down to him simply having no idea how to deal with this.

“Take care of him, Erestor. I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

“Why me?” Erestor snaps, at least as overwhelmed as the others, and not the least approving of how once more, everyone is just _assuming_ that he can keep things under control, because that’s his job, whether he's ever asked for it or not. “I need do some reading in the library. _Someone_ has to come up with a solution for this mess.”

He tries his best to keep his voice down, but from the corner of his eyes, he can see one of the Glorfindels tense, and how that unusually slumped, annoyingly helpless shade of an unshakable warrior nearly creeps into the headboard of the bed, still not saying a word. _Damn everything_.

“This is not your expertise. And someone has to be there for him.” Elrond’s famous eyebrow of death aimed back at him makes it very clear, this discussion is long over.

“He’s got a lot of other friends who can do that.”

“Unless he sleeps with all of them on a regular basis, we don’t seem to have the same definition of friendship. You stay. That’s final.” A mixture of amusement and impatience is in these sunken grey eyes that just have seen way too much shit in this millennia already to deal with such a ridiculous new complication, before Elrond pulls the door shut behind him.

Great.

Things become a little easier after Erestor sorted out which of the two Glorfindels to talk to (turns out, he can keep them apart by a fresh scar on the left cheekbone, one of them earned by fighting seven orcs at once), and Glorfindel sorted out how to operate two bodies by what is basically an in-depth soul bond with himself.

His lover, fortunately, has always been a smart cookie. By the time, Erestor persuades Elrond to bring the two Glorfindels to his chambers in the protection of night and cloaks to make it more comfortable for them, he can move again without tripping over himself and stops interrupting his own sentences or building sentences by words from two mouths in turns.

Another messed up supper of Erestor’s and half a barrel of wine later, they can actually start laughing about the whole thing.

By the time the barrel’s empty and it has become quiet in the valley, things become _interesting_.

Erestor is not completely sure who starts it. He’s just coming back from the bathroom and actually just stopped by the sofa that the one elf he has decided to call “Fin” to make things easier, is sitting on, because there's once more a quite gloomy look on his face, while the other – "Glorfindel" – lounges on Erestor's favorite chair with his legs dangling over the armrest, half asleep. Just a short, soft squeeze of that hunched shoulder, a harmless touch, really, that should do ...

Fin squeezes his hand in return with a half-hearted shrug, an askew grin. Even if Mithrandir comes back with good news and they’ll laugh about this in a few days, this is still the damn weirdest day of both their lives.

And that includes the morning, they found out in a very pictorial, involuntary way that Gil-Galad had bottomed for Lord Elrond for a whole decade before the last big war entered its heated phase. Or that one night, the twins caught them in a hot spring with Glorfindel’s cock in Erestor’s mouth and his skin still deeply reddened by a paddle.

Maybe that last picture in his mind reached Fin through the vague mental bond they built in the course of their casual relationship. His bright eyes widen visibly, the grin deepens. He pulls Erestor down on his lap, before Erestor has decided if that is a good idea or the worst idea ever.

Glorfindel on the other side of the room suddenly seems very awake and very interested in the way, Fin buries his hands in Erestor’s hair and kisses him hungrily.

Oh no.

No, no, _no_.

“What?” There’s the usual glint of lust for the exquisite in Fin’s eyes, as if this was just one of their usual nights.

For a moment, Erestor feels like punching him in the dick – which would really be a shame because it’s a very nice dick, even when its owner is being an ignorant ass –, but then Fin grabs his ass, tightly, and said body part rubs against his own crotch through Fin's breeches, heated and ready to go.

Somehow, Erestor makes it to break away from him before his hormones can get the better of him. “Forget it. This is out of the question.”

“Why?” The other is suddenly behind him. Strong arms wrap around Erestor's waist from behind him, the very same thick cock pressing against his clothed ass while a clever pair of lips starts to assault one of his ears until his knees almost give in.

“You always said you wanted to try a third party …”

Erestor did. That was always out of the question though. Although they are very much _not_ in love or courting, both of them way too damaged by their past to manage a healthy relationship, they have always been adamant about going exclusive. This might be a chance that will not come again, sure.

There’s still a _thousand_ things plainly _wrong_ with this; but somehow, Erestor can’t remember a single one of them, when Glorfindel unexpectedly pushes him forward, and he ends up in Fin’s lap again, straddling his lover as his mouth is hungrily ravaged.

“This is _so_ wrong,” he murmurs against Fin’s mouth, but his hands are firmly buried in those broad shoulders, and he is shamelessly rubbing his hips against that beautiful cock now, thinking of all the things he wants to do with it – with _both_ of them. Already, Fin’s hands reach inside his tunic, massaging, groping, idle fingertips finding the mithril rings in his nipples and working the sensitive skin around it to hardness.

An unceremonious shriek comes from Erestor's lips when a second pair of hands just rips his breeches open by the seams, leaving his behind exposed to the warm air of the fireplace, and then to a tender pair of lips, as his second lover goes to his knees behind him.

Erestor's hips are jerking instinctively, when quick breathing and kisses tease his most private parts, every inhibition long forgotten. He weakly pulls on Fin’s tunic to get the annoying piece of clothing off, to touch at least one of his lovers, give back some of that quickly growing bliss in his body.

Fin impatiently pushes his hands away and rips Erestor’s tunic open instead, lowering his head to lick and bite his nipples in turn, a tightly kneading and twisting set of fingertips always making sure to keep the other pebbled. His second hand easily keeps Erestor's wrists immobile behind his back.

Erestor doesn’t find it in him to complain, because there’s another, just as skilled tongue licking between his widely spread legs, teasing the hidden spot where he feels nothing but emptiness and yearning right now, before deeply thrusting inside.

Maybe Erestor’s been right earlier. He does seem to have gotten himself into some kind of coma. Or maybe this is a very weird dream in the Halls of Mandos. Surely nothing that is real can feel so good.

He writhes and curses, torn between the urge to thrust his hips forward, get some kind of friction against his neglected cock and backwards against the hot wetness pushing inside his quivering channel again and again.

“Please … More …”

“Careful what you wish for, beautiful. We've got a lot planned for you.” The turned on growl reaching his ears from two sides has his cock twitch desperately against the rest of his clothes.

Fin gives his nipple a last sharp bite before letting go off him. “Floor. Make yourself useful.” The well-known demanding, hoarse but never humiliating order goes straight to Erestor’s crotch and has him grind against Fin’s hips once more instead of obeying.

“Disobedience already? We didn’t even get started yet.” Glorfindel is back from a short detour to the kitchen table and reminds Erestor of his presence very sharply by a tight slap to his ass.

“Down here. Now.”

“Great. Now I have to deal with _two_ dominant bastards?” Erestor grumbles, but sadly, his body never quite agreed with his hurt pride when it came to his devotion and masochism.

So he lets himself be manhandled by two supernaturally strong sets of arms until he’s kneeling before the sofa with his head between Fin’s legs, as soon as his lover finally opens his pants. His moans vibrate against and around the cock in his mouth, heavy and throbbing, as slick fingers probe his spit-wet hole, spreading him open for what is to come, while Fin’s hands are in his hair again, just a little too tightly.

His lover pushes just him down deeper when his throat tightens, keeps him pressed against his loins as Erestor gags and swallows, until all he can feel, breathe, taste is the sweet-salty note all around him, while he fucks himself back on those fingers, harder with every move.

It’s not enough, not by a long shot, so he tries to pull back because he’s way too far gone for mind-speak right now, but he stands no chance against the hands holding him. When he turns his pleading eyes to his lover, his untouched cock strains against the ruined leather of his breeches, at the sight of Fin’s large pupils, his flushed cheeks, the way, he bites his swollen lip as he fucks Erestor’s throat raw. It’s a picture worth every discomfort, every strain in his throat and the dizziness from the growing lack of air, so Erestor only relaxes his muscles further and closes his eyes.

They fly open again not a second later when a second cock breeches him from behind, _finally_ , and it’s is so much better than he’s ever imagined it. He tries to move again, to push back, but his lovers don't let go of either his braids, his hips or his wrists, so he relaxes into their touch until he’s impaled from two sides, trapped between the massive bodies of his lovers, unable to move more than an inch or two thanks to the throbbing lengths buried to the hilt inside his body. He’s become a vessel for his lover to be used, and he’s loving every second of it.

It takes only a few well-aimed thrusts of Glorfindel’s sweat-covered body behind him before Erestor comes in his pants, completely untouched, close to blacking out from the sheer overload of sensations. The helpless twitching of his muscles and his uncontrolled, passionate yelp is enough to send both his lovers over the edge as well, heat spreading deeply in his guts while the well-known taste fills his mouth, more and more, until he can’t swallow quickly enough anymore and thick white stains his chin, the rest of his tunic, his chest.

He still has a blissed-out smile on his face when he slumps back against one of his lovers.

Erestor is not exactly sure how he ended up in his bedroom, but when he opens his eyes next time, he’s sandwiched between two naked bodies, freed from his last clothes as well, two soft pair of lips pampering his neck and shoulders with kisses.

Fin looks up at him from sinfully long, golden lashes and _purrs_ , and Erestor groans, because his cock is giving a very interested new twitch. “Have mercy on an old man, will you?”

“You’re a whole age younger than me, and one death short,” Glorfindel chuckles at him from behind. Then he pushes the tip of his tongue into his ear in a perfect recollection of what he was up to earlier, until Erestor trembles and pants, his fingertips clawing down on Fin’s shoulders for purchase.

His treacherous cock already hardens against his lover’s leg again, he finds, rolling his eyes, and then he rolls them again, but this time without any bite, because Fin is no longer in his arms but somewhere down on the mattress. A gentle hand on his thigh coaxes him back until he’s flat on his back on a muscular, comfortable surface, and his cock is engulfed in wet warmth.

Fin’s mouth is just one of the gifts the Valar have sent him back with. Soon enough, Erestor is undulating and shivering against Glorfindel’s much broader frame, trembling hands caressing his lover’s sides, reaching back to grab his neck and keep him close as Glorfindel’s mouth is ravaging the side of his own.

He doesn’t reach down though; he’s made the mistake _once_ of grabbing Glorfindel’s hair tightly after he came back. Those four broken ribs gave him trouble for a year and gave his lover the anxiety for a century that an accident like that might happen again. They don’t talk much, maybe less than they should about certain feelings they’ve been shutting out for far too long, but some things never _needed_ any conversation.

But it gets harder by the second, to not try and keep his lover closer to his body, when Fin swallows him down once more only to retreat immediately and tease just the damp head of his cock with the tip of his tongue, until Erestor is once more pleading. He almost sobs in relief when Fin thrusts his fingers inside him, making sure he’s still loose enough for whoever of them will take him this time.

Erestor only realizes, that’s never been a question after Fin gently lifted his hips, guiding him upwards a bit before maneuvering him onto his weird twin’s cock, and now pours another generous amount of oil over his hand and Erestor’s well-stretched hole. Already, a first, careful finger slips in alongside the throbbing length. Fin has his mouth on him again, so it’s hard to remember to protest, and maybe Erestor doesn’t even want it, because everything his lover – the two of them – have been doing to him so far is amazing.

It _is_ tight, but Fin keeps on taking his oversensitive cock all the way down his throat, thoroughly distracting him from the stretch and the burn of another finger, and then of a third one.

Also, Glorfindel’s hands are back on his piercings, gently pulling and flipping them, while he stays completely still inside of him, giving him a chance to adjust. He bites down on the bruise he’s sucked into Erestor’s neck, the moment, Fin enters him with a third finger, blood throbbing noticeably in the strained skin of his rim as he’s stretched so much further than what he’s being used to.

Erestor would have come early a second time, but that is when Fin decides to pull back and grab the base of his cock with his free hand, just grinning as Erestor curses him and writhes hard, just fucking himself deeper onto both cock and fingers as he tries to chase the ruined height.

“ _Sadistic bastard_ …”

“Language.” Completely unimpressed – but gentle, considerate as ever – Fin pulls back his oil-covered hand and reaches for the vial nearby again.

By the time, he lifts Erestor’s legs over his shoulders, Erestor is a shaking mess, torn between desire and apprehension, but Fin leans over him to get his mouth back on his piercings, and his hand is on Erestor’s steel hard cock again, pulling and stroking. Then Glorfindel shifts in him ever so slightly …

“ _Oh_.” Erestor melts back against his lover, his eyes fixed on Fin’s, his hands buried in Glorfindel’s upper arms. He forgets to close his mouth again; it’s just a continuous, very low growl of deepest lust from his throat at that point.

It fits, just _so_ , but every nerve ending in his lower body is on fire, he’s also still sensitive from before, and yet … It’s close, so very _near_ , and still he wants _more_. More than this, more than everything. He wants to crawl inside this elf he’s not supposed to love and yet never stopped loving, wants to feel this protecting sensation of being encased and held and filled, every inch of him inside and outside covered with nothing but his lover, for the rest of this life and the all the next ones.

It’s Fin who moves first. The emotionality is gone with the fog Erestor blinks from his eyes, and now he can’t do anything but hold on as he’s being fucked back to the First Age.

His body has caught on by now and serves them the way they want it and need it, the way _he_ needs it. The slick of his overstretched channel is now tight, not restraining around their matching lengths as they move in tandem, claiming him how he needs it, hammering his prostate with every move.

They don’t hold up much longer this time either, but it’s an intense and long orgasm. Erestor feels comfortably full and marked when Fin finally collapses above him, panting and positively fucked out. He’s not sure he’s even breathing, but he never wants to move again in his life.

He is not exactly sure how long they stayed like that. Next time he opens his eyes though, it’s because of being woken from a light slumber by someone clearing his throat in noisy offense.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mithrandir. I told you to wait for the morning.” Elrond is leaning against Erestor's cabinet with crossed arms and a decidedly unamused look on his face, but he doesn’t even bother commenting the scene further.

Well, there _are_ worse things he's caught them doing, though this probably takes the cake in the weirdness category.

Mithrandir grumbles something about adolescent elflings into his beard and then turns on his heels, stomping back outside.

“If you’re done having fun with my little accident, chief advisor, I have the spell ready. Unless you want to keep both of them, that is.”

Elrond seems to sense that Erestor is seriously considering it for a moment as he untangles from his lovers. He gestures a closing beak with his hand, the eyebrow of death directed at all three of them, before he follows his old friend outside.

“You have five minutes.”

They’re polite enough not to laugh before the door closes.

Erestor is relieved, admittedly. As much fun as that was, he probably wouldn’t survive a week with two of those in his bed.

Besides, he finds, once things are back to normal and Glorfindel slips into his chambers next time with a bag of clothes and a toothbrush over his shoulder, without either of them even having to bring it up, that he’s totally content with the one elf he has in his life. For better or for worse.


	20. Addicted to your scent [Olfactophilia]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Olfactophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

After a few hundred years of sleeping with each other, even if it's just the occasional casual thing when the mood strikes, and no one side ever has committed to anything, one would think you knew your partner's preferences inside out. One thing, could Glorfindel never really wrap his head around though is Erestor's keen love for semen.

Not for seed in general – Erestor certainly doesn't care much about his own. When the two of them get lost in one of their nights of oblivion and pleasure, he never cares much, where and how he comes, as long as Glorfindel is getting him off. And he's usually the first to reach for some cloth or towel to clean himself or Glorfindel off afterwards, when he's once more come all over the both of them, usually with Glorfindel's cock all the way up his perfect tight ass and his lithe, tall body writhing on top of him in desire.

But on those seldom occasions when Glorfindel feels the need to be filled by his lover's deliciously curved cock and rides him until he's marking Erestor's flawless pale skin with thick spurts of white … Or when he's used him too thoroughly with one of their creative toys and Erestor's hole, puffy and stretched widely for hours to come, can't deal with anymore stimulation, when his lover uses his clever mouth or hands to bring him off instead … Then Erestor never is in any hurry to get rid of the occasional drop he's spilled from his luscious lips, clinging to his strong jawline in a filthy display of devotion. When he makes Glorfindel come with the well-trained strokes of his strong fist or between the strength of his treacherously slender thighs, he always makes sure as well that Glorfindel's release covers him largely.

And there's never exactly a lack of it. Glorfindel has always been well endowed – cursed, people would say, except for his lover who can never get enough of being stretched and filled to his limits – with a matching set of big balls, and he always comes a _lot_. Apparently, Erestor is not one to let stuff go to waste.

It has never occurred to Glorfindel to complain. Seeing or feeling cum on him never bothered him much, and usually he's tired enough after their encounters to fall asleep immediately; cuddling has never really been their thing. So he never really comes in touch with that proof of arousal he's left on his lover's trembling body anyway. And until the morning comes, at some point Erestor always has slipped away to the bathroom to clean up.

The whole thing also helps not having to change the damn sheets every two hours. So Glorfindel really doesn't mind.

He just doesn't _get_ it.

That is, until one night, he wakes up after a fuck that hasn't only left him probably too sore to get on his damn horse tomorrow but also completely hydrated, and finds Erestor next to him busy, rubbing the last of semen into his chest with suspiciously heavy breaths and blissfully closed eyes. Getting a glass of water is suddenly the least important thing in the world.

Erestor's lips as well are covered in white, gleaming softly in the weak shine of the fireside, and as Glorfindel blinks at him, too disorientated still to make himself known, Erestor slowly licks them and pants out a soft moan.

Glorfindel has probably never gotten an erection so fast.

He must have make some noise in the back of his throat, because Erestor startles and looks up, his eyes go wide. He's starting to turn away, but Glorfindel takes him in his arms from behind and slowly rubs his yearningly throbbing cock against the bare cleft of his ass which draws a moan from both of them. It's an easy slide – Erestor has spread some of his lover's seed there as well.

Erestor whimpers in embarrassment and squints his eyes close when Glorfindel reaches for his chin, gets him to turn his head, pressing soothing kisses to his temple and forehead. It's the third age that they've known each other, and Glorfindel has seen Erestor talk everyone from King Thranduil to Gil-Galad into defeat; but speaking about his own wishes has always been hardest for him. It usually helps, letting him know that nothing turns Glorfindel on more than his lover enjoying himself.

Today, as well, Erestor immediately relaxes when Glorfindel catches his hand on his chest and continues where his lover has stopped, massaging his skin with the last of sticky fluid, kneading one nipple into hardness with his fingertips still covered in white until Erestor rubs his hips back against him, his hungry hole begging to be taken.

"I just really love your scent … It's so sweet and rich, like sea water …" he finally mumbles against Glorfindel's lips as he claims his mouth the way his free hand claims his behind, carefully, slowly preparing him to not hurt him with the lack of proper lube. "Love to smell you on me …"

He groans and rests one leg over Glorfindel's thigh, opening up as Glorfindel pushes two his fingers deeply inside of him, angling them back until he bumps the gland there. "I just … I didn't want you to think me weird."

Glorfindel chuckles against his neck and bites down until Erestor screams out and pushes down on his hand, asking for more. "You have fucked me in Lord Elrond's private garden while his father in law watched, with Haldir kneeling before him and sucking him off. Believe me, it doesn't get weirder than that."

"I didn't hear you complain," Erestor grins back and then moans because Glorfindel changes sides and starts treating his other Mithril-adorned nipple with the same strength until the tender skin is red and swollen and his tight channel clenches down on Glorfindel's hand demandingly.

"Need you …"

"Elbows and knees." Glorfindel lets go off him reluctantly to retrieve one of the many vials they have stored somewhere in and around this bed with time.

They're both too wound up at this point to wait long, and Erestor feels _glorious_ with the smoothness of cum easing the passage along with the oil, so it doesn't take long this time.

Before Glorfindel gets carried away completely by the heat, he buries his hand in Erestor's messy black hair and pulls his head, back, to the side, makes him watch while he pulls out of him with whatever willpower he can muster up at this point, and comes all over his arched back.

He's only just _touched_ Erestor's steel hard cock when his lover comes as well, wailing and trembling. He doesn't let go off him now either, ignores his lover's quiet whining and twitching as his oversensitive cock once more comes to life while Glorfindel very thoroughly rubs every bit of cum into Erestor's back.

Once he's finished and leans over his lover to once more bite down on that certain spot between neck and shoulder, Erestor comes for a third time this night and passes out.

Glorfindel softly kisses the bruise he's left on his sweat-covered neck and quietly leaves for the bathroom, to get cleaned up. It's not a fetish he particularly shares, but he hopes that tonight, he's made another step to have his lover understand, some of their differences have always been their greatest strength.

Who knows, maybe, if one day that knowledge really hits home, they can start to think about if sex hot enough to probably melt the One Ring is really all that connects them.

Glorfindel has always been very patient.


	21. Fire & Ice [Sadism]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Sadism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

It's not like Glorfindel wouldn't _know,_ he's in a loose relationship with someone more than a little sadistic in bed at times. Sometimes he just … forgets.

Like when they go for stretches without any of their wicked games and instead, with more of those quick moments on the harmless side in between. In the last months for example, the tidings of another upcoming war kept them too busy for to feel like exhausting themselves in the sheets for hours on end.

In those nights, Glorfindel often ends up topping, for time and convenience reasons, because his beautiful lover enjoys it wholeheartedly to be fucked by him, and it never takes long to pound him into some much-needed rest. Besides, while Erestor is the only one Glorfindel doesn't mind bottoming for, he's never been awfully fond seed inside of him, and sometimes, Erestor just gets too enthusiastic to remember that in time. Which Glorfindel doesn't blame him for – he cares for that grumpy eccentric too much to resent him for anything for long –, but it's led to their roles not often changing in that regard, and they're both fine with that.

When they're in an adventurous mood though, it's no longer about the question who gets to ride who back into the last Age. In those kind of nights, the fight of attentiveness, reflexes, provocations and finally surrender is only about who gets tied to the next available surface, subjected to whatever the other comes up with to chase away worry, grief and fear of the next catastrophe on the horizon.

Erestor rarely comes up with some complex contraption or a broad variety of tools like Glorfindel likes to indulge in with him. He prefers to take Glorfindel down a lot subtler. That's what makes sensing the clues in time so tricky when his lover is in a mood that might just end with Glorfindel too wrecked to get on his damn horse the next day.

Erestor is someone who will prepare one of his excellent dinners for the two of them one day, with flowers and a bunch of candles of the table, and an hour later, Glorfindel ends up with warm wax dripping on his nipples, cock and balls on the very same table.

Or his lover uses that darn stinging nettle oil to coat himself after he's almost thrusted Glorfindel to orgasm with his tongue deeply buried in Glorfindel's ass, and then pins him down while he fucks him, unfazed by the itching burn himself, thanks to his unusually high pain threshold.

The bastard is _sneaky_.

Erestor doesn't weigh more than approximately 45 pounds soaking wet, even if he's training hard for an army Glorfindel doesn't want him in exactly for that reason; but he's, quick, lithe and outrageously flexible. When he really doesn't want Glorfindel to go anywhere, he doesn't need complicated bondage to achieve that.

And then there was the infamous incidents in the Hall of Fire of course where Erestor first sucked him off under the table, five minutes before an eight hour meeting with King Thranduil and Lord Celeborn, only to tie his raging erection down then, right before Glorfindel could come, and leave him hard and _very_ distracted for the rest of the day.

Well, Glorfindel made faithfully sure that night that in the following meeting, Erestor would be the one regarded with peeved looks by the two Sindar, for being unable to sit still on a behind bruised in every color of the rainbow. Getting proper revenge is half the fun of this weird little relationship they built up over two Ages, without ever feeling the need to turn it into an emotional bond as most elves prefer it. Conventional hasn't ever suited either of them well.

Besides, if they were ever to think about something far more perverse than any of their kinks, like getting _married_ , neither of them would survive the first months. For that, both of them way too often feel like kicking the other's ass halfway across the sea.

This is one of those nights when Glorfindel wonders how he ever got the idea of pulling that insane feral cat of a scribe out of the rubbles of his parent's house back then, before he's led the last of the survivors out of Gondolin. Would have saved him a lot of trouble to not stop by that certain ruin that day. Glorfindel being very aware that it's mostly Erestor's uncanny intelligence and his sober analytic rationality that kept him sane and alive since his return to Middle-earth, doesn't change how much he really wants to throw the bastard over his lap right now, and redden his ass with the next available paddle or whip, to the point where even the smartest mouth in this valley can't form anything but screams anymore.

This is _most_ inconvenient.

Glorfindel can't remember in which post-orgasmic haze he has admitted to Erestor that it's not really the sensation of being filled up that he minds so much, that he just doesn't care for dealing with the warm stickiness of seed up his behind. But it's definitely been the most stupid decision since forgoing a damn hair tie on the day when his old home fell to ruin and flame.

He's suspected it a week or so already, when Erestor first used an ice cube on him while making out in the armory on an especially hot afternoon. Nothing unusual, actually … Until a half-melted object suddenly slipped inside of him, drawing a keen of protest from Glorfindel's lips. But that was when his lover swallowed him down whole and he somehow, magically, forgot the complaint.

Not a good choice.

Now he's no longer propped up on a few shields, with just the necessary body parts bared to his lover's skilled tongue – they always try to not take long enough to risk traumatizing yet another inhabitant of their home with their sight –, with a guiding hand in his lover's raven hair and the certainty that they're both far too turned for games. It always goes fast after a public sparring session, especially when Erestor _almost_ makes it to throw him on his back in front of his soldiers, with his sword blade just a little too close to Glorfindel's neck.

But now they're alone, and now Erestor, with his prettiest look from under these damn long lashes, has coaxed Glorfindel into letting himself be tied to the bed. Harmless enough, he's thought, with just a few black scarves instead of unforgiving rope and not in one of these unpleasant positions he hates so much, like with his hands bound with his own hair or suspended mid-air, his most sensitive parts exposed to whatever Erestor comes up with this time.

How tightly his lover has bound these clothes around his wrists though, with a complicated knot that Glorfindel has not remotely enough focus for to open them, that he only realizes when the bastard secures his ankles to the bed posts too. Suddenly, he can't move anymore, and can only watch his half-naked lover sit down between his widely spread legs.

And with him, this time, Erestor doesn't just a hastily stolen cube from the training court, supposed to protect the fruit and drinks there from the too blazing summer heat. This time, he has a huge porcelain bowl in his hand, filled to the brim with these tiny, half transparent balls of frozen water, the sting of the too low temperature radiating from the vessel already when it's being put down close to Glorfindel's naked behind, leaving no doubt where the contents are supposed to go.

Fuck.

"You know, Fin …" Erestor hums with this damn sexy raspy voice of his as he pulls a leather harness from a bag of his opened tunic. A toy that he's crafted for Glorfindel centuries ago. He starts to wrap the straps around Glorfindel's unbelievably still rock hard cock, ignoring the cusses thrown at his head in two languages.

"These silk sheets of yours feel really smooth and expensive. It would be a shame if something happened to them, wouldn't it? I guess you'll have to prove tonight if it's true what they say, that an elven warrior is able to control every single muscle perfectly …"

"Fuck you."

"Yes, yes, we've been there two minutes ago. Try 'sadistic bastard' if you're looking for alternatives; I think it's been almost 20 minutes since you last used that."

With a smile not too unkindly, Erestor bends down and licks a long stripe of enjoyment over Glorfindel's now trapped cock, gently sucks off the stray beads of white collecting at the head before he slowly takes him in, strong fingers rolling and massaging the swollen heaviness of his sac as Erestor sucks and bobs his head.

Actually, Glorfindel has been fucking this elf for too long to be lured in so easily, but Erestor's mouth makes him forget the world around him not only in rousing debates about war, tactics and their Gods. His eyes fall close, for a moment he doesn't remember that he's been _almost_ close to open that damn scarf holding his right hand …

Then he screams out as coldness spreads in his unprepared channel, icy flashes reaching all the way to his crotch and his spine. Definitely not a feeling he enjoys, but Erestor's tongue is rubbing over the underside of his cock, and he thrusts his head down, allowing the head of Glorfindel's cock to slide past the weak resistance of his throat, and Glorfindel forgets his useless struggle in his bonds.

His pride, of course, won't allow him to stop fighting for long, not when the damn object inside of him tickles his sensitive walls with first rivulets of water, numbing his insides, but not enough to not be very aware of the strangely erotic sensation … and the fact that he needs to clench his twitching hole very consciously now if he doesn't want a mess on the bed indeed.

"You stop this right now, Erestor, or …"

"Or what? Please enlighten me with your plans," Erestor chuckles, completely unimpressed. "I can use a few new images in my head for when you ride out for weeks and months next."

Just for a short, enquiring moment, his dark eyes find Glorfindel's bright blue ones, his mouth pausing upon Glorfindel's cock, waiting long enough to go sure, he can continue as he pleases.

They have their words and signs for when one of them really wants out of a situation, but that's been used only two times before. Once when Glorfindel found out, he really can't deal with open flame _too_ close to his skin anymore. And then again a millennia or so ago, when Erestor finally trusted him enough to tell him, the first and only lover before him he's ever had, almost violated him in a hot spring when Erestor was too drunk to tell him he really wasn't in the mood. That was also the last time Glorfindel has tried to fuck him in the water, and he has a diamond sharp blade prepared in his quarters in case _that_ asshole of a marchwarden ever dares to set foot in Imladris.

But those memories are far gone in nights like these. And if it helps his way too overworked lover, who thanks to the growing danger from the east is being crankier by the day, and less impatient with his fellow inhabitants than ever, relax for at least a few hours before the next bad news arriving from somewhere … Then Glorfindel can deal with a little pain and embarrassment.

So he only curses instead of demanding, and he calls the bastard every name under the sun except for the one Quenya expression that could stop all this in a second … But _fuck_ , this is _really_ inconvenient.

Erestor is relentless as always is in these nights, and he enjoys it way too much, seeing Glorfindel wind up and panting, his skin flushed from shame and lust, to stop before he's had enough. The prominent bulge at the front of his breeches is almost untouched, except for a few almost impatient seeming strokes through the dark leather in between.

Erestor rather busies himself with sucking Glorfindel's length down his throat again or tonguing his balls, occasionally taking them inside his mouth too while his free hand kneads Glorfindel's nipples into hardness, pulling on the tender skin just hard enough to have Glorfindel cry out.

Erestor's other hand never leaves its place between the already half-empty bowl and Glorfindel's desperately clenching hole. Again and again, he breaches his opening with another cube, pushing the mess of half molten ones inside of him just deeper. Occasionally he teases the twitching rim with an icy fingertip or the tip of his tongue, as Glorfindel's insides cramp from the pressure of more and more water filing his guts, and his desperate attempts to not even let a drop escape his body.

When the bowl is almost empty, a clear swelling has appeared on Glorfindel's lower belly that Erestor slowly, almost lovingly caresses with the palm of his hand, before he suddenly gives a sharp push upwards, causing Glorfindel to scream out weakly from an already sore throat as the water and the unforgiving shapes of the latest cubes are being shoved further up his guts, water sloshing inside of him in places he definitely never cared for feeling that.

But the pressure has lessened now at least. Glorfindel can almost relax a little. Only Erestor is already busy filling the space he's created with even more ice. It's a foreign sensation of fullness that Glorfindel definitely shouldn't enjoy as much as he is, evident in the ongoing throb of desire in his cock against Erestor's lips. Unfortunately, he's way too lost in the heat in his cells that builds such a weird contrast to the coldness throbbing in his loins, to protest much still.

Words are only coming back to him when Erestor finally puts the empty bowl aside and leans down next to the bed, to the box where Glorfindel keeps their toys, and comes up with a huge vial and the biggest phallus they own. The one Glorfindel only has let Erestor try on him _once_ , and immediately has demanded it to be taken out again. Unforgiving glass with a massive base, not long enough to satisfy but way, way too thick for his taste.

"No."

"No?" A dangerous, amused glint in his eyes, Erestor teases his tortured hole lightly enough to tickle and laughs darkly when Glorfindel clenches up once more and questions the legitimacy of his ancestry in an ancient Gondolin dialect.

"I would be _really_ offended now if my parents hadn't been assholes, you know. You sure, you don't want that? Because you're not getting up from that bed until I've come down your throat, and you look like you have trouble controlling yourself already …"

Glorfindel wants to yell at him again and tell him, it's not a good idea to come anywhere close to his teeth right now. But truth is, he couldn't even bring himself to hurt that bastard if he wanted to.

Also, unfortunately, he's right once more. Unless Glorfindel wants to utter their escape word, he can expect no mercy from someone who doesn't ever get any from him when their roles are reversed.

"Fuck. You."

"Not while you're filled up so nicely, sorry. _That_ would definitely make a mess."

The bastard has the audacity to keep on laughing while he gets to work with oil and his fingers, not without giving Glorfindel's swollen belly another of these harsh pushes.

This time, Glorfindel could swear, he can feel the damn ice crawl all the way up to his stomach, and he struggles to breathe for a moment. But at least he doesn't have to try so hard and stop himself from leaking all over those fucking sheets anymore when his lover works him open, efficiently as usually, with his mouth on Glorfindel's oversensitive erection the whole time, with stretched, lush lips teasing Glorfindel's grotesquely protruding belly when Erestor swallows him down whole.

Glorfindel needs to come, very badly, but the harness won't allow it. He's very grateful for Erestor's choice of restraints now, because he's pretty sure, he would have chafed his wrists and ankles bloody by now. With his breathing coming in shallow pants as he pleads and rants, he feels lightheaded, taken into this blissful oblivion that his lover and him both enjoy so much, as the heat pulsates in his groin like a caged animal, the last of coldness inside of him subsiding. This is what they're here for, to leave everything going so wrong outside this damn door. For that, he will put up with more than a little discomfort in nights like this and the morning after.

Glorfindel only realizes that his lover has had no less than four fingers deeply inside of him when they're suddenly gone. He whines in protest, then groans and tenses as another cramp hits and he suddenly knows, he won't be able to hold it anymore, not with his hole clenching down on nothing, his muscles too weak from the intrusion to obey him anymore …

Then he's being filled again, slowly, patiently, soft kisses on his legs and his belly and his cock soothing him as he tenses at the cold rigidness.

But then it's in.

Glorfindel moans as his muscles relax automatically, trying to deal with the too thick intrusion, then screams out as they tense again, pushing the water that's close to his abused opening back where it belongs even less. He feels fuller than he ever has before, pushed to the last of his nerve ends, skin too taut and too thin, but he's also turned on like seldom before.

He doesn't scream at his lover anymore. He's too busy wrapping his lips around Erestor's cock when his lover kneels over his head. His moans vibrate around the sweet long flesh as his lover thrusts deeply into his mouth. Opening up wide, he allows Erestor to fuck him like he needs it, usually a foolproof way to get him to orgasm quickly.

Today, the bastard takes his sweet time. Pulling back again and again before Glorfindel can swallow around him enthusiastically enough to milk him of his seed, he has one hand firmly buried in Glorfindel's hair to keep him from following the movement. Every now and then, Erestor reaches back to stroke his swollen belly and his cock until Glorfindel is a trembling mess, thrusting his hips up helplessly as far as he can. There's no longer insults but an honest, exhausted plea on his lips.

"Open up." Erestor's expression softens a little, tender fingertips wipe away the salt of sweat and a tear or two from Glorfindel's cheeks as he takes himself in his hand and gets himself off with just a few hard strokes, the head of his cock bumping Glorfindel's trembling lower lips as he comes with a relieved grunt, spending himself in Glorfindel's mouth.

Still shaking in his afterglow, pale skin reddened and shining with sweat, Erestor is already busy with Glorfindel's restraints. Because that is Erestor too. When the game comes to an end, he never keeps Glorfindel waiting.

He helps him get up then too, sensing that Glorfindel's legs won't hold him steady right now, and takes another moment in the bathroom to remove the phallus from his backside, before he leaves him alone, with a quick kiss to his forehead.

"I'll be waiting. Think about how you want me in the meantime."

It's an honorable notion, but until Glorfindel returns to the bed, still quite dazed and shaken from another intense session, his lover has fallen asleep right where he lies on his belly, long legs softly spread in an involuntary invitation.

Glorfindel's eyes fall on the scarves still scattered on the pillow.

He smiles and pounces.


	22. Scarred [Teratophilia]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Teratophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

"If making me uncomfortable is what you're going for: Congratulations. Can we go back now?"

Erestor is complaining already before Glorfindel has even opened the last curtains, the bright morning sun falling in at the man-high windows turning his naked body in the middle of the studio into a focal centerpiece of living art between empty scaffolds and half-finished statues.

It's perfect.

"No," Glorfindel returns flatly. "So quit being a pain."

After diligently checking that the door is really locked, he puts the key down demonstratively on a table with supplies right in Erestor's view, impossible to reach with his arms and legs restrained by soft ropes, all of them tied to massive hooks in the floor and ceiling. After telling the Lord what this is about, Glorfindel has easily gotten Elrond's permission to use this private working room of his family for as long as needs but he wants no disturbances. Today, for once, anyone stumbling in on them by accident would harm the mood more than it would kindle the usual flame of desire.

With a hint of worry, he watches over his shoulder how his lover keeps on struggling, with his eyes firmly shut as if he seeks to avoid his own reflection in more than one mirror on the wall. First faint traces of red spread on his ankles and wrists from under the stark contrast of the black rope.

Glorfindel will have to take care of that later. Sure, he could have tried once more to tell Erestor that it doesn't _matter_ , that he doesn't want him any less than before his captivity. That it's just some messed up skin, traces that will eventually fade anyway. That Glorfindel hasn't started this whole weird relationship between them back then only because of Erestor's attractive body but mostly because Erestor is the smartest person in the room on principle. Because Glorfindel wanted to fuck him all the way across the sea since the first time he heard him shut up both Gil-Galad and Elrond in a morning meeting, with all that cunning wit and a dozen catastrophes worth of experience of his.

All that and more, he has tried to drill into Erestor's head for the last five years, and by now, Glorfindel just about _had_ it.

Erestor is about to wither down there in his damn library that he only leaves for food or meetings he absolutely can't excuse himself from. His too thin, almost transparent white skin hasn't seen any sun ever since Glorfindel and his troops brought back his half-dead body to the valley back on that horrible day. The lack of reviving minerals and herb-infused fumes in the hot springs that Erestor refuses to go to ever since his rescue, has dried it out on top. It's really no miracle that rope is already chafing five minutes in.

And his hair … A jet black mane of once glorious hip length strands has become matted and thinned. As Glorfindel comes to stand behind his lover to put it up into a firm bun, to get it out of the way for what he's planning, it feels like old parchment. His absently caressing fingertips on Erestor's still wriggling form bump into a xylophone of rips, and if he put his second hand on that thin waist, he could probably enfold it without having to stretching his fingers much.

This has to stop.

Glorfindel only realizes that he's said it out aloud when Erestor gives an annoyed snort and pulls away from him as far as the restraints allow. "Why do you care? Nothing's changed between us."

Not exactly, no.

Glorfindel is the only one with still unlimited access to Erestor's little office at the end of the library. Once Elrond and his sons had repaired the worst organ damage, and once most of the cuts weren't breaking open again by basically just being looked at, Erestor and him quickly found their way back into one of their bedrooms too. Glorfindel's been worried in the beginning, but Elrond has assured him, Erestor wasn't only trying to hide some details of these days in the hands of some scattered orc group from him, to go easy on him maybe.

No, for some reason, they really haven't touched him before Glorfindel's searching party could finally find that damn cave. It's been just blades and whips and clubs and sticks. _Just_. A treatment bad enough to have to fear for an elf that Glorfindel has always been caring a lot for than he ever could bring himself to admit, for days. Days that he hasn't left that one hallway in the halls of healing for even a second, until Elladan finally came out to give the relieving signal. That stubborn bastard of an advisor is way too tough to be taken out so easily by a few primitive black creatures.

But that doesn't mean, Erestor is doing _fine_.

And since Glorfindel already can't give him what maybe deep down in their hearts, they've both been desiring for a century or two now … He at least will see to his lover no longer hiding away in his own misery.

"The world is bigger than your library or our bed, Erestor," he murmurs against his lover's neck before sucking a light bruise into his shin, careful to keep an inch or two away from the numbed, scarred spot on the side of his neck, where one tongue of a whip almost shredded his artery to pieces. "And it's been missing you. You've been walling up long enough."

"Easy for you to say."

Erestor finally stops pulling on the damn ropes, less because of the quiet purr on his lips from that first affection but because his neck and chest are covered in a sheen of salt already. He tires easily these days. Glorfindel could never consider him for the army because Erestor just seems completely unable to train more than the most necessary muscle onto his form, but he's never been lazy.

He still isn't, there's just too many people on the training ranges for his taste too.

"You're not the one being stared at wherever you go."

"People stare because they are being worried." Glorfindel walks around him and rests his hand softly on Erestor's cheek, thumb and forefinger framing that one scar that not even the longest robe and sleeves, not even the highest collar can hide.

Every time he looks in those sunken dark eyes, he allows himself a short note of thanks to the Valar that this one blow of an especially sharp whip missed said right eye by not even half an inch. It's bad enough as it is. For a while, Elrond hasn't been sure how to close that awful gash at all, in a way that wouldn't require Erestor mostly living off liquid food for the next ten years or so.

But his lover has always been blessed with a good healing factor, fortunately. By now, nothing is left of any of these horrible afflictions than whitish, ragged skin. That too, will pass at some point. Thanks to the poison clinging to most of Mordor's weapons, not as quickly as any of them would like, but it's gotten better already.

What Erestor really needs to understand is that none of this defines him, that none of this makes a difference. Not to Glorfindel or any of the people who care about him.

"They hate it just like much that this has happened to you, and they're trying to figure out how to help you. Like it or not, people in this valley are very fond of you – though I sometimes have a really hard time figuring out _why_ ," Glorfindel adds with a hint of humor and quickly steps back before Erestor can try and see how high he can bring his knee up in spite of the spreader bar keeping his legs temptingly parted.

For a moment, Glorfindel forgets what they're actually here for. His hands caress up and down Erestor's bare front, circling fingertips flickering his hardening nipples. A few quick strokes of Erestor's already very interested feeling long cock …

Then he forces himself to step back, chuckling at Erestor's rude curse. Later.

"I don't need _help_ , I need to _forget_ this. What about that is so hard for you all to wrap your head around?"

Erestor is angry enough to talk about this for once instead of just throwing Glorfindel out of his office when he brings it up, or throwing him down on his sofa in his office and sucking him off until Glorfindel forgets what he came there for in the first place.

Not today. Glorfindel takes a moment to kiss that growl of his lover's lips before he proceeds back to the working table to get on with his preparations.

"You can't, though. Not as long as every look in the mirror brings it back."

"Well, not all of us were lucky enough to be granted a new body after running into some black creatures," Erestors snaps. "Should have let me die if, it bothers you so much that I can't ignore being mostly made of scars now."

"I'm not asking you to ignore it."

Glorfindel finally found the brush he was looking for, very stiff and so thin that the tip will help drawing even the narrowest line on an uneven, pliable canvas. With the tray full of paint-filled jars, he returns to his lover, face unmoving as Erestor stares at the tools with wide eyes, caught between shock, confusion and mild interest.

"I want you to live with them, for however long it takes until they're gone. And since you seem unable to overlook a little bit of dead tissue, we'll have to turn it into something flashier."

Glorfindel expects protest, and if it would have been serious, he would have untied his lover faster than Erestor could even curse his heritage, his intelligence and his taste at once … But thank the Valar for small favors, his lover stays silent when he comes to stand behind him again and puts the tray down on a chair he's pulled up earlier.

Not only that, there's a new heat flushing his skin now, and it's no longer exhaustion.

Thing is: They have both been equally interested in all kinds of body art since they'd stumbled over that remote Haradrim dwelling a few centuries back, one of the few peaceful settlings existing these days. It was there where they got the ideas for the inking that since then, they renew on each other's bodies every few years, a reminder of their friendship and common home that went up in flames, located in spots no one can find if they didn't know about them.

This time, the markings will be in plain sight. And though Glorfindel is not ready to work with ink and needle in such an extensive scale, it's nothing Erestor can just wash off tonight.

Erestor's fine senses have now picked up on the particular sharp scent of the paint that reveal its permanent nature. He tenses when Glorfindel wraps his arms around his waist, his lips pressed to that small new bruise once more. But still there's no objection. "How long?"

"The Lord says, a year, one and a half at most. And then we'll redo them. For as long as you need it. Or until the scars are gone. Whatever happens first."

Glorfindel's fingertips brush over Erestor's sensitive dark nipple once more, then tease the small spots around his navel where he's ticklish before they go down deeper until his lover moans and pants, undulating back against him as he thrusts into his hand.

"You trust me?"

"If you ask me something so stupid again, I'll make sure to fit every single of these brushes up your dumb behind when you're done." There's no real bite to it. Erestor finally has stopped fighting too. He almost sounds … curious.

Glorfindel accepts that as sufficing permission and gets to work.

"I missed this."

When they finally get away from the others to retreat into their very personal little spring, shielded by a large ledge and high reed, Erestor willingly lets himself be pulled into Glorfindel's arms and curls up by his chest with a soft sigh. The hot water rippling over his skin leaves him boneless, and that the others welcomed him with nothing but warmth and joy earlier, has done the rest to let the anxiety slip from his shoulders.

He willingly lays back into the sandy surface as Glorfindel flips him over, pulls him upwards a little until it's only their legs underwater, and groans at the greedy lap of Glorfindel's tongue over his bare chest, his cock under Glorfindel's searching hand stirring already. It's almost like nothing changed since they've last been here.

Only Glorfindel is a lot more patient tonight than usual, tracing every single line he's left on his lover a few days ago, with the tip of his tongue until Erestor shakes beneath him, gasping for more, all reservations about these marked spots forgotten. One ray of the Sun of Glorfindel's own house that he adorned the center of Erestor's chest with, reaches out all the way to his left nipple, the golden shining tip covered by the Mithril ring Glorfindel put in there half an age ago. That's where he spends especially much time, sucking and nibbling and pulling, until the sensations throbbing through the swollen and reddened skin drown out the uncomfortable numbness in small parts of it.

The Tengwar symbols are next, painted in a thin line from Erestor's sternum almost all the way to the taut skin of his loins, right where his growing erection bumps against Glorfindel's chest and jaw as he's pampering the ragged line with gentle kisses. Every word and every one of those kisses are a grateful prayer to the Valar that Glorfindel has made it to shoot that damn orc from the distance before he could cut that one last wound as deep as he'd originally meant to.

Slipping deeper into the spring, he spreads Erestor's legs and gets his mouth to where his lover wants it, sucking him deeply into his mouth while his hands wander upwards on Erestor's back, blindly finding every spike and ridge of the crystal and obsidian star of Erestor's house that Glorfindel left there with the precise strokes of his brushes. In between, where the net of lashes that almost killed his lover, was too big to cover it with that one symbol, he's added the stylized Tengwar symbols of Erestor's family and all those they've lost on their way through those three Ages. All those who weren't as lucky to be found in time before death could tear them away from this life on Middle-earth they've all chosen over safe and peaceful bliss for some reason.

It's a wordless reminder and a plea, and if the last days are anything to go by, his lover has heard it. They've even been on a short ride into the mountains once, the west side, far from that one gap where Erestor's been assaulted from behind on his way back from Mirkwood that one day. And one of Glorfindel's soldiers has whispered to him that he's seen a shape in black fumbling around with a sword and bow in the middle of the night yesterday.

It's been a late and despaired attempt, but it's not come _too_ late.

Glorfindel smiles against Erestor's twitching, reddened skin as he swallows his whole length down his throat slowly, with passion and yearning. He ignores his lover's rude curse when he retreats before his lover can reach the height he's chasing with this desperate thrusts.

"Not like this. Turn around."

He takes another few seconds to admire his work on Erestor's back in the weak torch light before he leans down again, grabbing the firm roundness of his ass with both hands, to lick another broad stripe over the tender skin between. Erestor's helpless, needy keen is music in his ears, so he goes on, licking, sucking, thrusting into that waiting, tight opening, caring little about how loud either his or his lover's noises are.

It's only when Glorfindel looks up for a moment to revel in how Erestor trembles under his efforts, his hands clenching down on the sand and grass, that he spots a very familiar face at the narrow entrance of the spring, staring at them with a mixture of offense and resignation.

Glorfindel shrugs a little, not too apologetic, and goes back to what he started.

Well, that was probably the last time, the Lord allowed them into one of their private chambers, but Glorfindel finds, it's definitely been worth it.


	23. 5 times Glorfindel won't give in and 1 time he does [Begging]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: All four Ages

„ _Please_ “, Erestor insists.

Glorfindel is stunned speechless for a moment. He has never heard someone ask in such a broken tone of voice, to be allowed to risk their life in battle.

In a way, he understands – Erestor's parents and his brother are going, and there is no telling if any of them will be back.

But Glorfindel can’t bring a far too young, far too inexperienced Noldo with him to Thangorodrim. Erestor is just not ready, no matter how many hours Glorfindel spent in the last months showing him the basics that no other captain has been ready to teach a physically underdeveloped scribe.

So he shakes his head and turns away and tries to ignore how Erestor's narrow shape in the golden reflection of Glorfindel's house entrance slumps. Maybe another time.

When Erestor asks him though, if he can stay with him until the armies leave, Glorfindel stays up all night to play a stupid board game – Erestor wins both times – and to give his eager pupil a few more military history lessons. Every time, he passes him by to get them another goblet of wine, he gently squeezes his shoulder and ignores the tremble of anxiety under his fingertips.

Before he leaves, he covers the curled up shape on his couch with a blanket because Erestor is freezing in his sleep.

Erestor is always freezing. The guy is just too thin, they haven't even found armor that fits him yet.

That might save his life this time.

With Glorfindel being forced to take far too many younglings who can barely hold a sword straight, into this battle that isn't even truly Gondolin's in the first place, he refuses to risk one more life that deserves to see so much more still.

Little things like that, he guesses, he can do for Erestor.

“ _Please_ ”, Erestor croaks, blood dripping from ashen lips in rivulets as he tries to breathe through the weight on his chest.

Glorfindel winces, because Erestor's is one of the few voices that ask him to leave them behind, not to save them from the destruction raging through their home.

Erestor can't see them from his position, half-buried under the collapsed ceiling, but he must know. And he doesn’t want to go on without his family.

It's another plea Glorfindel can't give in to. He can’t give him up, he can't lose anyone else.

But he rams his elbow against Erestor's temple – there's no _time_ to be gentle – and only starts lifting the piece of rubble when he's out, to spare him the pain. And the sight of his parent's and his brother's deformed bodies just a few feet away that the rock reveals when it finally rolls off of him.

It's the only thing he can do for him.

“Please!” Erestor screams.

Glorfindel startles because he hasn’t realized, Erestor is awake again.

He's lost so much blood, and his lung is damaged, too, there's probably not a single intact bone on the left side of his chest and his arm … By all the Valar's grace, he shouldn't even be breathing right now, not to mention _yelling_.

The farmer, Glorfindel has asked to carry Erestor in his stead looked all but optimistic that Erestor will even live long enough to make it out of the city.

But he’s awake and he sees what's going on, and he clearly doesn't want Glorfindel to go back to fight an enemy bigger and more powerful than all the ones he has ever defeated.

Yet Glorfindel can’t indulge him, _again_. He at least has to buy the last survivors some time. Even if he himself won’t make it out of the city then, _they_ have to.

Erestor startles away when Glorfindel leans down to him, in the justified alertness that he'll just take him out with a well-aimed knock against his head again, if he doesn't stop fighting the stronger elf's grip around his damaged body.

" _You can’t_ …" He coughs up more blood, and the pain forces tears from his eyes – at least Glorfindel does a pretty decent job telling himself, it's from the pain. "You can't leave me. It's not _fair_!"

"There’s no choice. Take care of them. _Live_! They need someone with a brain."

And then Glorfindel bents his head and kisses Erestor. It's their first and probably their last kiss, and he knows, it’s a bad move the moment he does it. He branding the lover he never allowed himself to approach so far, forever. But he’s selfish; he doesn’t want to go without knowing how those pouty plush lips feel against his.

He tastes copper and salt, and then they’re gone, and Glorfindel is alone with the demon.

He can still taste Erestor on his lips when he falls and his body breaks.

His only comfort is that the farmer has taken Erestor as far away as possible on his demand, so he at least didn't have to watch.

There isn't anything else left Glorfindel can do for him.

“Please”, Erestor whispers, chocolate-colored eyes staring at Glorfindel wide and expectant in the weak glow of the fire.

Glorfindel's heart drops when he realizes, Erestor has never forgotten him, just as he'd feared before he fell. Just like Glorfindel has longed for him every single day before they sent him back here.

And that’s exactly why he can’t stay in these chambers, Erestor's new living chambers in the palace of his new Lord, any second longer. Glorfindel is back here on Middle-earth for one reason only, and that is to keep on saving this world from being ripped apart by the clutches of evil. It’s not unlikely he’ll fall doing that another time.

He can’t hurt Erestor like that again.

"I can't. Not here. Maybe someday, when we leave. If we ever do. I won’t be the one who shatters your heart, Erestor. It's way too precious for that."

"It's far too late for that." Erestor gathers his courage and comes to stand before him, blocking his way to the door.

His hands are ice-cold when he grabs Glorfindel's tunic, looking up at him so hopefully that it is in truth Glorfindel's heart that is breaking in two. "Stop making my decisions for me. You keep on forgetting I’m not fragile."

"Your soul is not, no," Glorfindel agrees as gently as he can and steps back with the same carefulness, forcing himself to look away when the disappointment distorts Erestor's pale features.

"That’s why the elves on Middle-earth need you. They need your strength and experience. That's what you never got, Erestor: I'm far more expendable than you. I can’t take you with me if I fail again. I never stopped wanting you, but I can't give you what you seek. Not as long as there's always war somewhere."

Wholly unimpressed, Erestor approaches him again and buries his hands in his braids, pulling him down to him, and Glorfindel has neither the strength in his body nor in his heart to resist. It is only fair that their first kiss comes on Erestor's part this time. With a little luck, this time, it will not be their last.

"Then give me what you can. Until we can have it all one day. Please?" Not a vigorous demand now, not even a fearful request. It's seduction, heat aimed at Glorfindel from under those too long, too pretty lashes and a stir under too tight black leather breeches against his own groin.

And that is how they Erestor ends up bent over his own dinner table that night, with his robe hastily bunched up around his waist, and Glorfindel pounding into him like there's no tomorrow. In their hurry, all they could find was the olive oil, and it's a sticky, smelly mess, but Eru, those sounds of lust from that smoky deep voice go right into Glorfindel's groin, and he doesn't last five minutes.

"Please", Erestor whimpers again at some point, thrusting back, impaling himself inch by inch on Glorfindel's painfully hard cock, and that word definitely shouldn't sound so erotic on his lips, not after all those times he's directed it at Glorfindel in other situations.

Glorfindel blindly grabs Erestor's just as hard cock, and they both close each other's mind off at the same time, so firmly and unbreakably, it’s like being pushed back by a tornado, just before their act can try and connect their souls in a bond of romance as it happens to most elves when they share intimacy.

It’s cold and harsh and unpleasant, but then Erestor clenches down on him and he comes with a scream, and he grabs Erestor tighter, faster, and makes him spend himself all over some draft for a letter to Mirkwood.

And that’s as good as it gets.

At least that, Glorfindel can do for him.

“Please”, Erestor snaps, at the end of his patience in a discussion they don't even have time for.

Glorfindel forces himself to turn away, to fumble with a too blunt sword over the grindstone, because that unbridled fighting spirit reminds him just a little too much of the beginning of their friendship, and it hurts that he can't tell Erestor anything different this time.

"In how many of the languages that you speak do I have to tell you no, before you understand?"

Erestor doesn't allow him to flee, he just comes to stand on the other side of the work bench, unflinching as sparks hit his skin. His pain tolerance has always been unnaturally high; just one of the reasons why there's no place for him in Lord Elrond's ranks of warriors.

“I’m withering like a flower in this damn library, can’t you _see_ that? I’m not asking you to take me to every front. Just _train_ me like you once did. I need to be ready to join you if the lines don’t hold.”

"They will hold. Sauron’s orcs are far too unorganized, especially around here. Unless Denethor and Théoden open their gates without resistance suddenly, the valley is safe."

"And you’re so sure they won't." Erestor's trust in Secondborn has never been particularly high; he's seen too little of their strength in war for that.

But Glorfindel has nothing to say to that. If it's not this decade, then probably the next. That hope that the next war is not around the corner, has long become minimal.

And the orcs _are_ teaming up, slowly but inevitably. Yes, Glorfindel indeed needs every fighter right now. Which is why he can't lose one who never knew his limits.

"I’m not taking you with me out there, Erestor."

"You rather want me to throw myself on my sword if they come here, instead of making myself useful?" Erestor still knows exactly how to hit him the deepest, and he's done going easy on him.

"If they come, one sword more or less won’t make a difference. You’re of much better use here as the Lord's advisor, you know that."

"Yes, that’s what ada told me when he tried to forbid me from seeing with you. And then I didn’t know what to do when they came for my family. If you’re so afraid of losing me, allow me some armor and dignity. That's all I'm asking."

When Glorfindel doesn't answer, just stares dully at the weapon in his hand, holding it to the tool too firmly until the blade is unusable for good, Erestor turns away with a scoff.

"Fine. Just know, next time you come looking, you won’t find me waiting, buried under some house. I’m _done_ waiting for you, Fin."

It’s the worst fight they ever had but this one wish, Glorfindel can’t grant him. Not if he wants to keep him alive. And he's not sure he can keep on living without him.

This is one of the few things Glorfindel can't do for him.

“Please”, Erestor begs.

Glorfindel stares at him, at a loss. So often he's heard him say it, but there was never so much raw desperation in his voice. It doesn't make the decision easier if he should go back to the Lord's office and start the discussion new about why a reborn Gondolindrim with Maia-esque powers is best suited to take it up with Sauron.

Once more, Erestor blocks his way before he can even take a step towards the exit, and he makes it clear that Glorfindel will have to knock him out cold once more if he wants him to move.

"This is madness. This is not what they sent you back for.”

“For what then?”

“To hold the lines. You said that yourself." Erestor's hand is a vice on his shoulder when Glorfindel comes close enough to try and shove him aside, and somehow, he forgets what he just wanted to do when his lover's lips are suddenly much too close to his.

"And if they do succeed, if the Free Folks win this battle, what’s that worth if this valley is overrun?”

Instead of pushing him out of the way, Glorfindel melts into Erestor's arms, and together, they sink to the floor when the helplessness and the fear of what's to come wash over them both.

“I can’t leave them to their own fate, Erestor. They need a fighter among them …”

“They have Mithrandir, and Estel, and that Greenwood fawn who’s a thousand times better with a bow than you. Didn’t you say, at some point one sword more or less doesn’t make a difference?”

Erestor is merciless as he always is with his words, but his hand in Glorfindel's hair is soft. His tears falling on Glorfindel's lips still taste the same.

Glorfindel hides his own against Erestor's always too cold hand and beats an angry fist down on the floor a last time as the fight is sapped from him.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have listened to you. Then I could leave you here in my stead now. Instead, I’ll be forced to watch the world burn from afar this time.”

“Then at least this time, neither of us will be alone.” Erestor unbuttons his tunic and his breeches, one by one, and strokes him to hardness while Glorfindel hides the last of his wrath and indecisiveness against his thigh, until his sobs turn to moans.

By the time, Glorfindel has ripped the laces of Erestor's breeches open with his teeth and swallowed him down in one go, the thought of going back to see the Lord has lost all appeal.

This one time, Glorfindel gives in to a plea outside of their bedroom.

He stays. And he lives.

As is the only thing Erestor ever wanted him to do for him.

Maybe it's enough.


	24. Unbreak me [Corset]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Corset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age
> 
> This chapter loosely belongs to the next chapter 25, it can be read separately though.

This has definitely been the _last_ time Glorfindel gives in.

He _knew_ something like this was going to happen.

No amount of training units and no heated discussion can change that Erestor is just not _suited_ for open battle.

Yes. Granted. Erestor is _fast_ , with reflexes that are sometimes even a match for Glorfindel's, and he wields a mean blade; he's also a respectable shot. Faced with a few of Sauron's creatures or the well-trained Secondborn that the powers in the east have been gathering in the last years, Glorfindel would trust Erestor with his life anytime.

But his friend lacks everything an elven warrior needs on a large battlefield, from perfectly fitted armor to a strongly muscled sword arm. Especially and most importantly, the estimation of his own physical reserves, essential for any tactical calculation. Erestor is a risk factor in every unit of troop.

That he just doesn't _understand_ that doesn't make it easier, rebuking him time and again when he asks Glorfindel to join him for yet another maneuver outside the valley gates. Mostly when another scattered group of orcs or other dark creatures tries to still their hunger for Firstborn meat in one of the best secured realms on Middle-earth of all places.

A realm that is mostly so safe because Glorfindel leaves nothing to chance when it comes to border security. He can't allow any gaps in those ranks.

Unfortunately, he's got a really soft spot for that scrawny librarian that he's already tried, in vain, to turn into a formidable warrior back in their common home, as soon as the boy had reached maturity. The relationship developing between them later quickly went much deeper than they both are ready to give in to at this point, between blood and fear and a new threat for this world stirring in Mordor. Telling Erestor no _hurts_.

Most of the time, they vent off that aggression in an especially passionate, adventurous night in one of their bedrooms, discovering yet another creative practice to take their minds off the dread once more looming over these realms.

Post-orgasmic Erestor is a lot more pliant and understanding than the frustrated eccentric that Lord Elrond calls his chief advisor.

But yesterday, Glorfindel has been tired enough to be inattentive for a moment, and next thing he knew, he was tied to the bed on his hands and knees, and Erestor reddened his behind with a tail of bundled stinging nettles until he was groaning and panting, until finally that one hated word of surrender came from his lips … and that was a bet lost he better should have won, as he knows now.

Instead, he's had agreed to Erestor's demand, reluctantly but resigning, after having been thoroughly fucked into compliance by a certain thick cock for the next half an hour.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? It was only a harmless patrol ride. And even if they would run into trouble, there was no real reason to worry. Erestor has neglected both sleep and the tedious task of keeping an eye on every single book being in the right place in the library lately, just to squeeze in a few extra sparring lessons. His shoulders got a little broader, and he doesn't look _that_ ridiculous with a sword anymore. When it comes to it and the forces in the east will gather for a proper new strike indeed, they'll need every half-way able elf at the front as it is.

So Glorfindel rolled his eyes and shrugged and nodded, and Erestor fell asleep to him with a very satisfied grin. He was in the stables to gear up and saddle his horse in the next morning before Glorfindel even woke up.

Glorfindel hasn't regretted a decision so much, ever since he thought more than an Age ago that it was a negligible fashion detail, wearing your hair in a braid under your armor when your city was under siege by countless dark creatures and demons.

Valar, _this_ , this _right here_ is why he doesn't want Erestor out there. His casual lover wasn't the only one without a full armor on when they were being ambushed by stray orcs from behind, led by a completely feral Mountain-troll, but of _course_ , he then is the only one who gets himself caught. In a remarkably stupid move no less, throwing himself right in the monster's way when it's about to swing his club at a younger, even more inexperienced elf, laying half-unconscious on the ground after taking a poisoned arrow to his thigh.

Erestor saved the youngling's life, so Glorfindel has a hard time holding his carelessness against him, but _by all the stars_ , why does his friend always leave his brains at the door when he goes into battle?

In the end, he is indeed the only one seriously hurt before Glorfindel can finally cut the beast's throat and the orcs flee, and that's so far worse than realizing that Imladris is indeed becoming a favorite target of stray dark creatures in the west with every year more.

For a moment, Glorfindel is convinced that he's kneeling down next to a corpse when he finally gets to Erestor, that the damn club thrust against his back has just snapped his thin neck in half …

But his lover opens his eyes when he turns him around, and though they're a little clouded from the hard impact and the last of energy of the battle, there's a crooked smile on his lips. "Oh."

" _Oh_?" Caught between the desire to kiss that bastard and slap him across the face, Glorfindel decides to just roll his eyes and get back up, tentatively pulling up Erestor with him, since he's already trying to sit up anyway.

To his relief, Erestor stands, with just a little grimace on his face as he reaches back to rub over what is doubtlessly another battlefield of bruises. He's awake, he moves well enough; the rest, the healers will take care of.

"We need to get back as quickly as possible. Can you ride?"

"Of course." There's still a slightly absent, fuzzy grin on Erestor's lips, a fleeting uneasy expression in his dark eyes as he stretches a little, with an uncomfortable grunt. But then he nods at the horses, to signal, he's good to go.

In hindsight, the lack of any snark should have been Glorfindel's best clue that something's not right _at all_.

As it is, he stops short only when Erestor tries to make a step towards his mare and immediately collapses again before Glorfindel can catch him. " _Damn it_ …"

Erestor adds another, not so harmless curse in two more languages but pushes Glorfindel away when he leans over him.

"Don't, it's alright. Probably twisted my ankle or threw my kneecap out or something. I can't put weight on it." He glares at his right leg as if he wants to cut it off, visibly annoyed by an affliction he's unable to even place, thanks to the weird condition that's been accompanying him ever since his youth in Gondolin.

"Can you …?" Again that almost haunted expression on his face when he turns to Glorfindel, and a grateful smile instead of a snotty comment when Glorfindel pulls him up with one arm wrapped around his waist so he can limp to Asfaloth by his side. He's _really_ not doing well.

Glorfindel makes a note to spoil his lover a little tonight, maybe with a good long oil massage for once instead of the usual wrestle for dominance, and then with his mouth on Erestor's cock, because that's how Erestor likes to come best …

That this is not going to happen, he only starts to suspect when he's pulled Erestor up on Asfaloth's back with him. The proud Mearh-stallion seems to sense that there's trouble and behaves, as much as he hates carrying anyone but Glorfindel or Lord Elrond's daughter.

But Erestor can't even get said leg over the horse's neck. He has to keep both on one side, keep his arms around Glorfindel's waist, and what under different circumstances would have been a seldom shared kind of closeness, this morning, leaves Glorfindel with a growing pressure of dread in his stomach.

Erestor is even a shade paler than usual, he's sweating heavily though it's an anything but hot spring day, and he keeps on shifting his weight as if he can't find a comfortable position. It's clear that he's in pain more and more, and that means a lot more trouble than a few bruises or a twisted joint.

It's only when Glorfindel then is waiting on a ground corridor of the halls of healing, wandering back and forth in growing anxiety, and Elrond suddenly storms out of the treatment room, hurrying past him without a word, that he understands _how_ bad it is.

The Lord doesn't answer his choked call, and the twins don't stop either when they join their father just a few minutes later, all three almost identical pointed features grim, all of them carrying a bulging bag of instruments over their shoulder.

Only Elladan has mercy on Glorfindel's terrified wide eyes and his frozen posture and murmurs something about multiple spine fractures before he shuts the door behind them.

Now it's Glorfindel's legs that give in. Braced against the cool marble wall with his knees drawn close to his chest, he stares at his still dirtied and bloodied hands and tries to understand.

He can't.

Not in the next hours that he spends alone on that almost deserted hallway, waiting for news from that darned room, and not when he's finally being given more details. Glorfindel has never been trained well enough in the art of healing to wrap his head around every term of art and technique or remedy.

All he knows is that whatever exactly happened to Erestor on that battlefield, Glorfindel has made it a lot worse on that damn ride. Whatever happens next, it's _his_ fault …

The Lord and his sons are not done yet with their procedures, won't be for a while, but nothing is keeping Glorfindel in these damn buildings anymore. He scrambles to his feet, walks straight to his chambers in the palace after a little detour to the wine cellar and empties two full barrels in one go.

By the time, Elrond comes to see him, he's drunk off his ass. His attention span and comprehension are slightly too damaged to make sense of every of his Lord's words.

Elrond _says_ that Erestor will be alright, sure, but maybe Elrond is just full of shit and wants Glorfindel to calm down. There's way too many _ifs_ in that explanation for his taste.

Also he really need to go to the bathroom because he's never felt so sick before in his life.

But the floor suddenly seems to be made of jelly, and the world is spinning around him, and Glorfindel is pretty sure, he's just ruined one of Elrond's prettiest robes.

But the Lord spares him a scolding and pulls Glorfindel in his arms when he crashes to the ground and then his composure crashes next.

It's sunrise before he can stop crying.

Several bruised vertebras, three sprained ones. Two broken.

Glorfindel _still_ can't figure out how in the world Erestor even made it home with him that day. He figures, in a way he'll always blame himself for not understanding in time; but Erestor doesn't blame him, neither does anyone else, and life doesn't stop just because Elrond's librarian is confined to bed for a while. So he has no choice but to pull himself together.

It helps that the Lord once more worked miracles, and that his sons after all these centuries too have acquired a lot more skills than just a sharp tongue and handling even sharper swords. They've sung and pushed and coaxed everything back into alignment, and that's a start.

For Erestor's spine to stay where it's supposed to be though, until not every wrong movement means more damage anymore, Elrond subjects his patient to wear a healing device that the twins came up with after listening to Erestor's whining and ranting for three weeks. It's his pain sensation condition again – any other person would long have been back on their feet. But Elrond can't risk someone going back to their life who is unable to feel which bend and turn and stretch is the wrong one.

So for the next four months and not less than 23 hours a day, Erestor is condemned to wear a stiff leather corset encasing his chest from just below his collarbones down to his tailbone.

And Erestor is _miserable_.

Some people, as Glorfindel very well knows, would probably say that's his default setting; but Glorfindel can't watch the whole thing longer than a few days before he knows, he has to do something, if Erestor is not supposed to do the next very stupid thing.

He's losing patience already. He can't stretch to reach the top bookshelves, he can't pick things up because he can't bend over. He can't run because he's short of breath. He needs to see the Lord every time he wants to change clothes. He can't bath but needs to use the waterfall springs at the edge of the city which he hates.

In short, he's a grumpy mess by the time Glorfindel comes to see him in his chambers.

The Lord has sent him, but in truth, he's glad to have the excuse of a worried remark about a wine bottle under Erestor's arm. Glorfindel has fucked this up, now it's up to him to take care of his friend, it's really as simple as that. That he's more worried about him every day and wants to see him back in good shape, because he can't deal without this careless idiot by his side anymore, is really just an afterthought.

Glorfindel has been given an embarrassingly explicit list of what _not_ to do with Erestor, but he finds, the Lord is a little too worried about their self-restraint when he forces entry into those always darkened, mostly unfurnished chambers right next to the library as there's no reaction to his knock.

Erestor is well into what is surely not his first glass. He must have slipped from his bed at some point and apparently saw no reason to get up. Propped against the wooden frame, he welcomes Glorfindel with a mirthless salute of his glass and empties it then, without breaking eye contact.

"Finally. I was wondering how long you would be able to keep your _I told you so_ for yourself."

As Glorfindel just stares at him from sad eyes, he tries to turn back to the mattress to reach for the barrel and refill his glass. The merciless embrace of the corset doesn't allow for more than a few inches of movement though which is not enough. So Erestor ends up smashing the glass against the wall instead, ignoring Glorfindel's startle just like his critical looks over his appearance. Save for stained old breeches, the corset is all he's wearing. His usually so silky, soft hair is sprawled over his face and back and tangled in the hooks and laces, and he doesn't even seem to notice.

"Come on then, say it, so I can say, you're right, of course, I won't do it again, just to make you feel better. And then you can get back to your soldiers where you belong."

"I've come for one of my soldiers." Glorfindel finally finds his words and his ability to move again. He gets another glass from the kitchen corner, and one for himself, pours them both another drink and sits down next to Erestor to hand him his glass.

The mistrustful, almost hostile look on his friend's face hurts. Suddenly he realizes, he should have come much earlier … and that part of this is indeed his fault, though not in the way he first thought.

“You've had the third highest kill count that day, and you saved someone's life. Do you really think I'm here to criticize you? I never doubted that you're a fighter, Erestor. You've always been. We just need to find the best place to deploy your talent, together. And I need to train your weaknesses out of you instead of blaming you for them. I've realized that much too late, and it nearly cost me the highest price I could pay."

Something clear and salty falls into his untouched glass when he closes his eyes and tries to blink that horrible memory away, of the elf who's as close to being his companion as anyone will ever get, being almost beaten to death.

Erestor's cool, trembling hand wiping his tears away feels good … It feels like home. Both their anger subsides, quickly, but that doesn't mean, things are alright again.

"I just feel … so _stupid_."

Erestor allows it when Glorfindel gentle nudges him forward a little so he can sit behind him and tenderly untangle his hair, finally tying it up in a firm bun to get it out of the way.

"I should have been more careful, I know that. I feel stupid, and I _look_ stupid and …" When Glorfindel presses a soothing kiss to the spot right below his ear, Erestor shudders, already half-way on his way to be sober again, and leans back against him. But this, too, is made hard by the thing around his chest.

"I feel _trapped_ …"

And that's the real problem, because even two Ages later, Erestor is still not over being trapped under the rubble of his parents' house back in Gondolin, half his chest crushed, helpless to move or to die quickly. With the corpses of his parents and his brother nearby, just out of reach and sight, but not out of earshot, or the reach of his sense of smell …

And there's only so long he'll be able to put up with these associations if better ones aren't planted into his head soon.

Glorfindel wraps his arms as firmly around his lover as he dares and gets him to his feet, directing him to the washing room next door without letting go off him.

"I'm not supposed to," Erestor murmurs unhappily when Glorfindel starts the bath, but there's not much fight in him.

"You're not supposed to slump or turn," Glorfindel corrects him, already busy getting rid of that disgusting thing, his friend politely calls breeches. "I'm here to make sure, that doesn't happen."

He gets Erestor to sit down on the edge of the tub with his legs dangling in the slowly rising warm water.

Then he kneels down behind him, one by one opening the laces of the hated piece of clothing. He kisses every dent in Erestor's almost transparent thin skin that is revealed, and the last of discolorations of bruises. He strokes Erestor's bare sides, his hips, his thighs as he pampers his back with fleeting touches and licks, worshipping his skin, expressing his gratefulness that this stupid stubborn Noldo is built a lot more resilient than one can see at first sight. That he'll be alright again, at some point, if they're both very careful now.

"Your posture has changed," he murmurs into Erestor's ear and kisses the goose-flesh on his neck away. "Feel that? I love how straight you are holding yourself." His fingertips caress up and down the sharp line in the middle of Erestor's back, feeling every ridge of reset bone, every twitching muscles, few and all the more steeled as there were. "We'll make sure you keep that once you don't need this thing anymore. It's a good look on you."

His hands find their way back to Erestor's waist, not too lightly to avoid tickling him, and he finds with awe that he could almost enclose it with his hands if he tried, if wouldn't be too freaked to hurt his lover right now. Erestor had always had a built slightly on the feminine side, but the corset has defined the narrow shape of his middle even better.

"You're not stupid and you don't _look_ stupid, you look _beautiful_ ," he whispers to his lover, rough and full of admiration and yearning as he fondles his sides and then his belly and then lower to where hardness is quickly growing between his legs.

When Erestor turns his head to him doubtfully – only his head as Glorfindel sees with satisfaction, his shoulders staying low and in straight –, he chuckles and gets up, quickly getting rid of his own clothing. "I know. We're not _supposed_ to. No tremors, no thrusts, no writhing. No _intercourse_. Believe me, I don't need that lecture again." He grimaces a little at the memory of the conversation earlier.

"Doesn't mean we can't do _anything_."

He gets in the tub first before he very wraps his arms around his skeptical lover, one arm braced against his shoulder blades keeping him upright as he sits down in the tub, taking Erestor with him, so Erestor comes to sit between his spread legs with his back to him. Then Glorfindel crosses his legs over Erestor's thinner, strong thighs, effectively immobilizing him, just like his arm keeps his upper body in place. Then he reaches for the bucket with the soap.

It's nothing more than a superficial cleaning that he manages before he takes pity of Erestor's needy moans and reaches for his straining cock, giving it a few firm, quick strokes. It doesn't take more to stain the clear surface of the bath with a few thick stripes of white.

Glorfindel has still enough focus to sing them away before he leans back against the tub with a relieved sigh, because Erestor has become still and relaxed in his arms. If that is what they have to do every day until he's recovered … Well, there's worse punishments.

"What about you?" There's just a small hint of bad conscience left in Erestor's drowsy voice when he tries to reach back between their bodies, tries to relieve that pent-up lust in Glorfindel's just as heated body in return, but that's too much of a stretch still and he hisses in frustration when Glorfindel grabs his wrists to keep him still.

"If you want to keep this up, this is going to be a very one-sided relationship, you know."

"Oh, not at all." Glorfindel shakes himself awake and reaches for soap and sponge again, to finally clean Erestor's body properly. A bed is waiting for them, and then a very long day tomorrow.

"You see, first thing we're doing tomorrow is getting those back into place." He rubs the sponge slowly over Erestor's hardened nipples, fingertips seeking out the small holes in the pebbled skin where his Mithril piercings have been. The Lord has prompted him to take them out so he wouldn't be uncomfortable under the strict layers of the corset, but that's obviously been a mistake.

Glorfindel could have told the Lord from the start that he's not dealing with a normal patient.

"So you'll have a little distraction in your library, every time you move. Believe me, I'll have enough fun on my own just thinking about that."

Erestor winces and gives a low groan when Glorfindel is finally finished lathering his body and starts to give his cock the same slow, thorough treatment with the sponge.

"Somehow I doubt, it will be beneficial for my healing, sitting around with a hard-on all day," he grumbles, but it doesn't really sound like a protest.

That only comes at Glorfindel's next gleeful whisper against his ear that this is not going to happen, since Glorfindel will of course not let him leave these chambers without his cock cage on. Erestor wriggles and tenses a little, growling and ranting about sadistic bastards for about five seconds.

But then Glorfindel slips two soapy fingertips inside of him, and he comes a second time and forgets what he's just been so upset about.

"You do realize that I'll have three months to come up with a proper revenge for that, right?" he finally asks, a glint of mischief on his face when they're in bed then, the contraption back into place that he's come a little to terms with now, thankfully, and his eyes hooded with exhaustion. "Sure you want to risk that?"

Glorfindel only hums against his lover's neck and rests his head on his shoulder as sleep quickly comes to find him as well, the hopefully first undisturbed night in weeks heavy in his bones.

"You've caused me much bigger headache already. I'll cope."

They both will, he knows that now.

They always do, somehow.


	25. Healing hands [Face sitting]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Face sitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age
> 
> This chapter loosely belongs to the former chapter 24, it can be read separately though.

"How did it go?"

Erestor immediately puts his quill aside when Glorfindel enters his chambers, which means, he's been truly worried about the outcome of this conversation with their Lord. He usually doesn't let himself be interrupted when he's writing a letter to his old Royal pal in Mirkwood. For some reason entirely mystifying to Glorfindel, Erestor and Thranduil have always gotten along splendidly. Probably because they both equally dislike socializing with most beings around them.

As little love as Glorfindel himself has for the grumpy Sinda over the mountains: He has to admit, the King has been unusually caring and considerate in the last few month, ever since he learned that Erestor almost got his stupid neck broken by a fucking Mountain-troll.

Thranduil sent healers and a better, a stronger and especially more elegant version of the corset, Lord Elrond has damned his chief advisor to wear for the next months. Even Glorfindel has to admit, the smooth black leather with the crystal laces feels _really_ nice to put on his casual lover every day. And the King keeps on writing to invite them to his palace for a few weeks, to recover – _both_ of them, indeed. The old recluse must be worried _really_ about Erestor.

Probably still a certain sense of obligation, even almost 3000 years later, about Erestor saving the King's ass back then after Thranduil's father and his wife both fell in and right after the last big war. The only government duty the King was able to attend to at that time, was making singlehandedly sure to keep Mirkwood's wine import numbers stable. Erestor and he grew quite close back then, closer than Glorfindel sometimes likes it.

Still, if you can ignore the huge spiders and orcs and undead in those woods (and lately, if you believe the rumors, the just as off-putting sight of the Crown Prince getting fucked by Lord Elrond's foster son behind every other tree), the palace isn't the worst place to stay. So Glorfindel in spite of his aversion is actually considering taking the offer as soon as Erestor is allowed to travel, just to get _out of here_ for a while. The Lord is driving him _crazy_.

"Going that well, hm?" Erestor chuckles when Glorfindel saunters to the kitchen corner instead of answering and pours himself not a glass but the biggest goblet of wine he can find. After a good three months of basically living in these chambers – of course only to help Erestor with everything he can, so his friend will recover faster, nothing more! –, Glorfindel knows his way around the place.

Erestor gets up from his desk chair with a little grimace, stretching as much as the corset allows, and Glorfindel finds with a very interested look from the corner of his eyes, it's everything he wears on his body, safe for a silken cloth, sloppily wrapped around his hips. Erestor prefers little, easy accessible clothing when Glorfindel is not around to help him dress.

Glorfindel really can't complain.

Erestor takes the goblet from him, before he can down it in one go, and takes a long sip from it himself, not without licking off the traces Glorfindel's lips have left on the jewel-adorned thin gold, never breaking eye contact. Apparently, his lover is very determined to take Glorfindel's mind of yet another lecture by the Lord.

"He's just worried, Fin. The twins and he spent a lot of time making sure, I won't spend the next decades or centuries in a chair or on crutches, you know. I've brought this shit onto myself with my stupidity. We've _both_ been careless that day, so neither of us should complain. He just wants to make sure, you're taking good care of me."

"He's accused me of jeopardizing your recovery," Glorfindel growls, still annoyed and unhappy.

But then Erestor turns on his heels to lead the way to the bedroom, with a seductive sway of his hips and that newly straightened posture of his, the so much better fitted corset emphasizing every inch of his smaller-grown waist, a cascade of black silk spilling down his shoulders, with a small silver clasp at the back of Erestor's head as the only jewelry …

His anger melts quickly away. Truth be told, Glorfindel is long done for when it comes to Erestor. Sometimes he wonders if it's really worth it, the show Erestor and him have been putting up for centuries now, just to prevent coming to close to each other, to keep the other from pain, in a time when either of them might fall to an enemy sword in an inattentive moment.

The answer is probably no, but this is hardly the best of times to ponder about that. Especially not when the hardness stirring at Glorfindel's groin demands most of his thinking capability.

"You're doing no such thing." Honestly confused, Erestor takes a look back over his shoulder, a movement that finally elicits no new pain, after most of his injuries have healed. His eyes flickering over Glorfindel's silhouette, he stops them for a second too long at his mid-section, and a broad smile curls on his pillowy lips, a hint of rue in it.

"We've been too loud again in the library, haven't we?"

Glorfindel follows Erestor's inviting motion to the bed without even thinking about it – he frankly can't remember when he's last slept in his own. He gets rid of most of his own clothing before sitting down on the hardened, stiff mattress, crafted especially for Erestor's quicker recovery, with crossed legs.

"Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm demanding too much of you."

Erestor just snickers and sits down behind him, sneaking his long, gracile legs under Glorfindel's to help him keep his own slender frame as still and straight as possible. After tying Glorfindel's hair into a loose braid with one of his own golden curls, he starts to massage the new tension from his shoulders.

"Come on. Like you ever need to _demand_ anything of me that I'm not giving you willingly anyway." Erestor presses his lips to Glorfindel's newly revealed neck and gives it a single, playful nibble. " _Fin_. Seriously. Without your little distractions, I would have been running up the walls and thrown this stupid thing on my chest in the fire after two weeks tops. Stop beating yourself up. I'll talk to the Lord."

"I think he's heard enough details of our love life for one year."

Glorfindel grimaces a little, still feeling those icy bright eyes aimed at him, the famous eyebrow of death slowly wandering up on Elrond's high forehead as his Lord asks him about certain noises from Erestor's workplace that he's overheard the afternoon before.

_We talked about this, general. No. Intercourse. No tremors. No thrusting. I'm not sure you understand how much is at stake here. He needs to give his back a rest for at least two more months. Or I promise,_ you _will be the one to put up with his complaints for the rest of this Age_ at least _, about why he won't ever be walking without a limp. Or why he'll never be sitting on a horse again for longer than a few minutes. If that's your way of trying to keep him out of the army …_

_Don't be ridiculous. I'm just following your advice. You said, light physical exercise is good for his recovery._

_Yes. Like. Gymnastics. Or riding. For five minutes. In a walk._

_It was two minutes; and you never specified_ what _he's supposed to be riding._

Glorfindel shivers a little, remembering that he was sure for a moment, Elrond would summon the spirits of his late foster fathers next and induce a Kinslaying right there and then. Lindir storming in with some horribly important news about dwarves making trouble somewhere close to Imladris, probably saved him.

And the truth is, Erestor is not being any worse, just because Glorfindel is giving him a little relief from too much pent up sexual tension from time to time. So really, the Lord shouldn't complain in the first place.

"He'll come around."

Erestor is done kneading the last knots out from under his skin and has proceeded to soft caresses. They quickly wander around his chest to tease his hardened nipples, one hand stroking his half-hard cock to full attention with a few skilled, firm pulls and twists. "We'll just keep to this room until I'm no longer confined to that dreadful thing on my body."

"You know, I do have a weakness for that _dreadful thing_ …" Sometimes Erestor still needs that reminder, apparently.

So Glorfindel turns around to push his lover gently down on the mattress and get his lips on Erestor's body, specifically onto his leather-clad chest, on the certain, already slightly roughed up spots where Glorfindel likes to bury his teeth until Erestor can feel the heat through the smooth material and his Mithril-adorned nipples strain against the inside of the corset. It's not quite the one hour yet that Erestor is allowed to take the thing off, so Glorfindel reluctantly leaves his hands of the laces on his back.

Instead, he reaches down to pull that flimsy skirt away. Glorfindel has been nice enough to forgo the restrictive metal cage that he sometimes likes to torture his lover with in the morning; so he can go right to pumping Erestor's quickly growing erection in his fist, while he bites and sucks and gnaws on the rings showing clearly through the leather, one hand always firmly braced against Erestor's sternum to keep his lithe body from arching up and putting too much pressure on his healing bones.

Glorfindel is fully prepared to bring his lover to another of these slightly shallow but satisfying orgasms and then take care of his own arousal in the bathroom like in these last few weeks.

But tonight, Erestor's aroused moans in his chest quickly turn to protest, and his iron grasp on Glorfindel's neck stops him before he can give his other nipple the same treatment. "Wait. I …"

Erestor's dark eyes are wide and full of longing, and it's not the longing for more caresses of Glorfindel's hands and mouth, not this time. "Let me touch you. _Please_." It's that insistent, almost desperate plea for a more mutual kind of closeness that keeps Glorfindel from saying no immediately.

He hesitates, looks down on Erestor's still so vulnerable body, at a loss, torn between his own straining arousal and the ongoing worry that anything he might do could make Erestor's condition worse. Like on that day when he's almost lost his lover to a stupid troll club. As long as Erestor is forbidden from every movement that contorts or compresses his spine in any way, there's only so much he can do. The way, Erestor stays comfortably on his back, biting his lower lip in an almost painful provocation, doesn't look like he has a quick hand job in mind.

"I'm not sure how …"

"Good thing I'm the one with the brains here," Erestor states dryly. No, there's really nothing subtle about the way he licks his lips.

"Kneel over me." He pats the pillow under his head in an unmistakably gesture and rolls his eyes when Glorfindel tries to estimate if that's too much _exercise_ already. "There's nothing wrong with my _mouth_. Get your ass up here, Fin, if you don't want me ravaging you in tomorrow's meeting under the table. We both know you can't keep quiet."

Unfortunately, that is a threat his lover would actually make good on. Besides, Glorfindel's cock twitches its approval very clearly; so he finally obeys, a little awkwardly because this is not something they have done before.

But Erestor is very clear about his desires. As soon as Glorfindel has himself postured above him, facing the headboard, with his legs on the left and right of his head, he impatiently grabs Glorfindel's thighs and pushes them apart a lot further, until he can close those surprisingly strong, cool hands around Glorfindel's waist and pull him downwards. Quick, deep breath teases over his rock hard cock, small kitten licks over the pulsating vein. Tender nibbles on his too heavy balls …

But that's not what his lover has in mind. The firmly massaging hands now lingering on his behind give another nudge towards the bedframe, Erestor's tongue never leaving the sensitive skin of his perineum as Glorfindel moves. Then hot wetness slowly circles his hole, pressing, pushing _just so_.

Glorfindel is suddenly very glad that he has his hands on the sturdy wood of the top board where he's had Erestor's wrists so often bound to before assaulting him in every way possible. Today, it is his lover returning the favor, making him weak in the knees with just the warmth of his breath against Glorfindel's most sensitive spots, the gentle massage of a wicked long tongue that slowly slips inside of him. And just the hint of the scrape of teeth on his spit-slick rim that has him scream out and twitch away, torn between growing ecstasy and the sharp twinge of perfect pain, before he presses his hips back down on pure instinct.

For a moment, he startles and tries to move back, the subtle terror of possibly hurting his lover still so deeply ingrained in his bones.

But Erestor has his hand on his cock firmly enough to not let him go anywhere. He only thrusts his tongue deeper inside of Glorfindel's twitching channel, moaning in audible delight against his skin. His nails are a sharp reminder on the inside of his thigh, on his balls, of who exactly is in control here right now, and Glorfindel has never been happier to surrender.

Only when his lover thrusts and licks and sucks him closer to orgasm with every second, he dares to let go of the headboard with one hand, to blindly reach back until he finds flush skin and rough leather, pushing his fingertips under the tightness of the corset until they meet metal. Then he _twists_.

Erestor screams against him and comes so hard, a few drops of white actually land on Glorfindel's arm. He thrusts his tongue all the way inside of him once more, and his hand on Glorfindel's cock gives that one evil little twist right below the crown that he never can resist. Just a few seconds later, the headboard is painted with a quite … interesting new shade.

The last of his seed, Glorfindel allows Erestor to carefully lick of his oversensitive, softening cock because he knows how much his lover loves to taste him, but that's really as long as his legs keep him upright still before he flops down on the mattress, trembling all over. "So … that just happened."

"Shut up," Erestor murmurs, blissfully and drowsily, reaching out for him to pull him close until Glorfindel is with his head on his shoulder again, the way they used to fall asleep an awfully lot lately for two people who share nothing but a sexual relationship.

"I think, you can tell the Lord, you have found a perfectly safe new way to rid me off a little too much energy."

"I wouldn't dream of it. It's your turn to traumatize him."

Glorfindel falls asleep with Erestor's quiet laughter in his ear, and that's as perfect as it gets these days.


	26. Misfits [Micro/Macro]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Micro/Macro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: End of the Third Age

Erestor has always loved how much _taller_ Glorfindel is than him.

Erestor is not tiny by any means, but he’s never quite reached the height, his late parents and brother have had; and thanks to an annoying condition that his body just can’t rid of, he can’t train more than the most basic muscle onto it for the life of him.

Glorfindel on the other hand has always been _huge_. He’s easily towered most elves in Gondolin. And though Erestor has never had the doubtful pleasure of meeting Fëanor’s Firstborn, who apparently, has had the reputation of being the tallest elf of his fucked up time, Erestor seriously doubts that he’s been half as much a pleasure to look at. He’s also pretty sure, that after Glorfindel’s heroic death, the Valar granted his reborn body not only all those fancy Maia-esque powers but also another inch or two more.

Which means, he now easily has the strength to lift Erestor up anytime.

Erestor might or not have made use of that on the day, they ran into each other again an Age after Gondolin – both of them still outsiders in their Folk, as elves who were only looking for physical pleasures and not for romance –, to climb Glorfindel like a tree, the minute they were alone in the next best tent. A week later, he’s still had the bruises of Glorfindel’s armor on his thighs from where his lover kept his legs wrapped closely around his waist, and he’s walked funny for three days because they were too impatient for lube; but it’s been worth it.

Other benefits of Glorfindel's height include never being cold even in the harshest of Imladris' winters. Erestor can just curl his body up against Glorfindel’s like a cat, whenever his casual lover decides to stay the night, and enjoy it that Glorfindel’s body radiates heat like an oven. His lover doesn’t mind, especially since he very much enjoys the feeling of Erestor’s hair on his skin. Besides, using Glorfindel’s broad chest as a pillow has more than once led to Erestor’s lips grazing one of his highly sensitive nipples just by _accident_ , and if they’ve not both been too fucked out at that point … Well, they've mostly been so an hour later then.

Most important though: Glorfindel’s massive size doesn’t leave out _any_ vital body part. Erestor doesn’t think he’ll ever get old enough to stop enjoying that beautiful piece of cock.

Every now and then, Glorfindel feels like being fucked himself, especially after a bad battle at the gates of the valley, or a nightmare of Gondolin, so vivid and detailed that Erestor can see its fragments through their weak, unreliable mental connection still when he pulls his sobbing lover in his arms and caresses his golden curls until he’s calmed down. In some of these nights, Glorfindel silently spreads his legs for him, a pleading look in his beautiful bright eyes.

Then Erestor does his best to distract him, working him open slowly and gently and taking him with the same tenderness, for hours at one go sometimes, slowly and deeply, their eyes firmly locked as they leave flames and ruin behind.

But that’s usually not what either of them is here for. Erestor on his part is here for being stretched almost to his limits by his lover’s considerable girth, until he can’t twitch, writhe, _breathe_ without every of his nerve endings being on fire, until just rolling his hips a little has him close to coming.

And Glorfindel has a huge kink for placing Erestor on his lap and entering him inch by inch, while his large hands and long arms easily keep his hips and legs immobile.

When he comes to see Erestor after an especially depressing day out at the front, all problems have to stay outside. Then there's only an – admittedly almost always over- or undercooked meal – waiting for them, reading some stupid poetry to each other to take their mind off things, a lengthy board game or just finding their way straight to the bedroom, robes and armor carelessly falling to the floor on the way.

When there has been an especially ugly fight, including maybe even a death or two, Erestor already awaits his lover on the bed. Then he's spent the last hour in the tub, though he's usually not much of a hedonist, because he knows, Glorfindel has a thing for the smell of violet on his skin. His hair is in a tight braid, and he hasn't bothered with putting clothes back on. He presents himself to his lover bare and waiting, lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed, with his legs spread in invitation, his opening swollen and dripping with oil from thorough preparations in the tub.

Erestor has crafted a few toys for himself in the course of the centuries, but not a single one that measures up to or even tops Glorfindel's length because he wouldn't want to miss that feeling of his lover opening him up the last bit.

These are the kind of nights when Glorfindel doesn't even bother to undress when he enters. There's only the brief rustling of stiff leather pants before his lover kneels over him. Bracing himself on his thighs, Glorfindel only takes a moment to slip three of his fingers inside his backside, making Erestor groan with growing want. A grateful, soft kiss to his shoulder, then the fat crown of his lover's cock nudges his hole, slowly pushing inside as he lay down on top of him.

In these moments, Erestor feels their differences in every cell of his body, how his shape is downright swallowed up by the silhouette pushing him into the mattress. He's got hardly any room to move now, every inch of skin covered by tanned, warm softness. With Glorfindel bracing himself on his arms left and right of his head, every powerful thrust of hips would have sent him forward if the broad hips engulfing his wouldn't nail him down.

Erestor never feels safer than in such hours of pleasure. His narrow channel is fluttering weakly around the cock splitting him open, sensitive flesh rubbed in all the right places. Covers and pillows are drenched in sweat soon, his untouched cock throbs with every smallest bit of friction against the smooth silk. There's a litany of praise and filth on Glorfindel's lips that goes straight to Erestor's groin and has his balls draw close and heavy to his body, ready to spill what he's been saving for Glorfindel all those last weeks. But with his hands restrained by much bigger ones, there's nothing he can do but wait until his lover deems him ready to come. He's a vessel to be used, and in nights like this, he's fine with that.

Sometimes Erestor thinks though, the main reason for Glorfindel enjoying his body like that is that the position makes it basically impossible for Erestor to see his face. His lover leans too heavily on him for turning his head enough to see more than quickly working muscles on thick arms and wide shoulders. When Erestor tries anyway, Glorfindel growls and pulls his head back by his braid; a rough treatment that fulfills his slight kink for pain in the bedroom enough to forget what he's wanted to.

But he can still feel the occasional tear falling on his neck.

Erestor doesn't ask, not in nights like these. Some things on this world, you can control. Most of them, like a body that never really fitted anyone else's standards, one just has to deal with. With the minor physical imbalance they both have, complementing each other perfectly, it probably really does make sense that they always end up in each other's arms at some point.

Erestor doesn't question it too much, because questioning it would mean, dealing with emotions that would leave him way too unprotected for being partly in charge of a whole valley in times of war.

But he doesn't take it for granted either, what they have. That together, they're doing best what they're doing, is maybe all he needs to know for the moment.


	27. Forbidden fruit [Lap dances]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Lap dances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: Middle of the Third Age
> 
> Thanks to the good people in the Discord-Server Erestor's Library for the idea with Elrond and Celebrían substituting for this prompt!

Erestor and Glorfindel have made it their sole, dedicated mission to fuck in every at least semi-public place of Imladris.

Partly, it's just their preferences of course – they really don't mind being watched; they know they're not too unpleasant a sight, unclothed and lost in passion. On their list of not-so-secret voyeurs, if rumors are anything to go by, are figures as renowned as the King of Mirkwood and Lord Celeborn. Not that anyone's ever approached them after accidentally or not so accidentally walking in on them, but some gazes and flushed cheeks at breakfast tables don't lie. On some days, they just like to have eyes on them.

The other reasoning behind their adventures out in the open though, is simple _spite_. With half the elf population on Middle-earth and in Valinor and probably all of the Valar gossiping about them, just because they're among the few of their kind who prefer loose physical relations to a romantic bond? They'll _give_ them something to talk about at least.

After spending their second Age together already in this casual constellation, Glorfindel is proud to say that they have covered nearly all of their home valley in regard of possible locations for lovemaking. There's just one particular spot that they both have always been dangerously attracted too, and that's Lord Elrond's private garden behind the palace.

The Lord has been pretty clear about his private premises being off limits, of course. Elrond is putting up with their admittedly provocative shenanigans, mostly because he needs them both, and because they're not exactly welcome in any of the other realms for longer than a short, usually very passionate visit either. But when they're invited for a family dinner on his balcony or a late glass of wine in front of the fireplace, they always have to behave; then Glorfindel is even forbidden to leave any kind of toy on or inside his lover's body to keep him a little excited before the next night of adventure.

And they have been told more than once that if they should dare getting up to anything in Elrond's garden, he would make very sure, Glorfindel spends the next years up in the mountains, responsible for training his soldiers between snow and ice. And that Erestor would then spend at least as much time stabbing spiders and managing Thranduil's wine import in Mirkwood.

Not the most exciting of prospects, so they've been good … so far.

It's just too _tempting_.

It's the Day of the Music, that one time at the end of summer when everyone who's being halfway decent with an instrument comes to the palace and plays one song after the other in chorus all day and night. Which means, Elrond and his family will be busy with hosting duties nonstop.

It's the perfect opportunity to manage a little groping and a hasty blowjob in between the high hedges and broad beeches of that one small patch of garden that they've never been to before. That's technically not even sex, Glorfindel explains to his doubtful lover for the hundredth of time when they finally make it to steal out of the celebration hall and arrive at their destination, golden and black hair covered by long cloaks, with tight shoulders, to not attract anyone's attention.

"We'll be out of here before you know." Glorfindel drops on the large white table in the middle of the garden and spreads his legs invitingly. "Now, I think you were busy with something before we were so rudely interrupted by the first song this morning."

Erestor blushes which is always a beautiful sight and grumbles a little but doesn't protest again before he smoothly goes down on his knees before the table, on perfect eyelevel with the quickly growing bulge in Glorfindel's tight black breeches. Only the smallest of grimaces distorts his beautiful full lips when he bends forward to pull open the laces with his sharp teeth.

This is day 2 of Glorfindel refusing his lover to remove that large nice toy from his backside until he nicely _asks_ , and Erestor hasn't reached the limits of his high pain tolerance yet. Which makes for a very nice sight under these wide, flowing robe of his, because his taut stomach is already a little bulged from all the seed, Glorfindel has been filling him with in the last hours.

And he plans to add more in the foreseeable future, as soon as they can get away from that damn celebration.

For now they'll both have to make due with what they can get up to here. Which for Glorfindel, is the tight hot sucking of a truly glorious mouth.

For Erestor, it's the relatively unsatisfying touch of his own hand on his firmly caged erection. Not exactly fair but, again: His stubborn beautiful lover only has to work on his tone a little to get freed. Erestor tends to get so _impolite_ when he's stuffed full and forbidden to come ...

It's just one of these little games that they both enjoy equally. Glorfindel is very aware that Erestor will get back at him, with interest, as soon as it's finished – a thought that has his cock twitch even more violently under Erestor's enthusiastically licking tongue.

Of course, his lover realizes that, and he's probably caught one of Glorfindel's aroused thoughts in their vague mental connection too, because he's smiling up at him from widened hazel eyes and brings his head forward, easily swallowing Glorfindel's whole length down his throat, slowly bobbing it to the melancholic tune of an old Lórien aria being played in the distance. His hand on Glorfindel's balls tightens just a little as Glorfindel curses and bucks and then starts its firm massage again. The other reaches up blindly, under Glorfindel's tunic, aiming for one of his nipples …

And then Erestor suddenly withdraws and jumps up, just when Glorfindel is _so close_. For a moment, he's tempted to take the brat over his lap right there and then and redden his arse so much that he won't be able to sit when they go back to the hall.

But then he sees Erestor's startled, uneasy look. And now he hears it too, that there's well-known steps approaching. The last time he has hurried so much, tucking himself in and closing his pants, has been on Thranduil's throne a century or so ago when Erestor and him hadn't been aware yet that the kinky King enjoys it greatly to watch them from a dark corner, and a session similar to this has been disturbed by the ruler of the realm approaching.

Sadly, Elrond vary rarely gets a kick out of seeing his general and his librarian getting it on.

And there's only that one exit to this part of the garden.

For a moment, they stare at each other hesitatingly, considering to pretend that they've taken a wrong turn or only wanted to admire the view. But Erestor's hair is a mess, his lip is swollen, and Glorfindel's pants have more than one suspicious white stain. Also they're still both flushed and panting, and if they don't think of something right away, it's frostbites and putting up with Thranduil's infamous mood swings for the next decade.

_You can't be serious_ , Erestor hisses at him via their bond when Glorfindel abruptly hurries over to the next-best tree and starts climbing it. He's doubtlessly thinking about his restricted movements.

Well, Erestor has mastered bigger challenges with that pretty, tight backside of his filled and stretched to its limits.

Besides, this shouldn't take long; whatever the Lord is doing here, he can't afford to stay away from his own party for too long.

_Get moving_ , Glorfindel growls back, just as cranky, and climbs a few limbs higher to where the leaf canopy will hopefully provide enough cover, at least if they're being quiet enough. It's ridiculous, degrading and not worthy of two seasoned warriors like them, but the alternative is definitely worth.

When Erestor has reached the limb that Glorfindel got as comfortable as possible on, he softly pulls him in his arms because his partner looks decidedly unamused, and also really plagued by the burn and throb in his lower body now. Steadying him against his chest so Erestor at least doesn't have to try and keep balance, Glorfindel presses a quick, apologetic kiss to the spot below his ear and smiles when he sees his lover shiver. They'll definitely pick up where they stopped later.

For now they'll have to be patient and as still as possible.

And for longer than thought, as it turns out, because the Lord brings his wife along, and they approach the very table that Erestor and Glorfindel just had a little bit of fun on.

They don't both sit down though; it's only the Lord who gets unusually comfortable, straddling one of the long wooden benches, his wine-red robe lazily bunched around his waist, the simple white breeches below sporting a light note of salt from one of the last warm summer evenings … and a very clearly visible bulge at the front.

Glorfindel has to bite back a wince when Erestor's hand claws down on his thigh and his lover curses at him in his head for that stupid idea of his. He's seen it too.

There's really no mistaking the way, their Lady – of whom they can only see hip-length, silver hair and the basically non-existent back of a white dress – bends down to kiss her husband, a pair of skilled healer hands that they both know very well, shamelessly being buried in that fine, small behind of Celeborn's and Galadriel's daughter and … Oh, this is not going to end well.

Glorfindel buries his face into Erestor's hair with an inaudible grunt, because he's been brought up with at least a basic amount of decency. Watching someone when he doesn't know if they agree, is a shitty move, no matter how curious he might be for a treacherous moment. Besides, it can be only a matter of a few minutes, right? Probably those two lovebirds had the same idea as Erestor as him. They'll go back to the others soon enough …

That's what Glorfindel thinks until he hears Erestor rant again in his mind. This time, it borders on desperate, and there's a good deal of surprise in his mental voice.

Glorfindel doesn't _mean_ to look, but his hormones are still going through the roof thanks to his lover's too hot body being nestled so close against his. Besides, he has to keep an eye on everything, so he'll know when they can get out of here, right?

Well, that's not going to happen anytime soon.

Their Lady has stepped away from her husband a little and is now swaying her tall, slender body to the quick drum sounds of an old Imladris folk song sounding from the celebration hall. And this is not some harmless prancing in the grass to enjoy growth and life and love. Well, love, maybe. The most basic aspects of it.

Glorfindel has been blithely unaware to this day that Celebrían is even able to _move_ like that.

Elrond's eyes are fixed on his wife, wide and lust-filled, and Glorfindel can't blame him. One hand motionlessly resting on his thigh, he's stroking himself through his breeches with the other, the smallest of moans coming from his narrow lips from time to time, and that really shouldn't be as hot as it is.

But what really has Glorfindel's eyes glued is the way, Celebrían is moving her body in a highly erotic, slow wave, hips undulating in her husband's direction, hands slowly caressing over every of her curves under that nothing of a dress. From time to time, the long, half transparent skirt slips up her long legs, revealing a milky-white shank and the glistening of an anklet on her right foot, before she lets go of the seam again, much too Elrond's obvious disappointment.

Only when Celebrían approaches her husband again, the skirt is lifted almost up to her thighs to allow her the necessary room as she sits down on the Lord's lap and starts a very private, slow and intimate dance for him.

_Are you seeing what I'm seeing?_

Erestor sounds just as torn between disbelief and forbidden, fascinated arousal as him. Small drops of sweat are collecting on the side of his neck, and when Glorfindel licks them away, absent-mindedly, Erestor pushes his ass back against him with an arduously bit back moan.

It's really only fair, given the restrictive metal predicament Glorfindel has left his lover with in the morning, that they can't get up to anything right now, but he's not sure he won't be coming right into his pants if this will go on for much longer.

_Fine, you were right, we're not doing that again here._

A regret coming a little too late though.

Celebrían has her arms around her transfixed husband's shoulders and her hips closely pressed to his, rubbing herself against him in time to the music. Quicker, louder moans are coming from both their lips before they get lost in passionate kisses. With one leg hooked behind her husband's back, Celebrían slowly arches back, presenting her narrow, barely covered frame to her husband.

With the Lady almost lowering her head to the ground, for a moment, Glorfindel is convinced that her round deep blue eyes are staring right at him. But if she's noticed them, she doesn't show, just lets herself be pulled back up by her husband's hand, after Elrond spent many moments with stroking her flat belly and the small fullness of her breasts.

Then she's back to moving her shape against his, with the graceful elegance of a snake hypnotizing its victim, both her hands firmly buried in Elrond's long black hair, hungry lips leaving more than one reddened spot on his neck that he'll have a hard time explaining when they go back.

It really is a dance rather than an act, the speed never picking up, and no further clothing being shed.

Not that it's necessary. The thin fabric does nothing to hide either the wet patch on their Lord's breeches nor the damp inches of silk clinging to Celebrían's hips when the two of them finally make it to untangle, after a series of loud groans, the perfect rhythm of their bodies entangled always matching the sounds of instruments from afar.

"I'll bring you a scarf." Chuckling, Celebrían leaves a last, tender kiss on her husband's lips and then hurries to the house, probably to redress.

Elrond stays on his seat for a few minutes longer, doing his best to get somewhat presentable again, a definitely fucked out grin on his lips.

That it is in truth aimed at them, Glorfindel and Erestor only realize, when he suddenly speaks up, without even looking their way. "You two better shield your thoughts when Lady Galadriel next visits. Be warned that otherwise she has her ways to make sure, neither of you will think of sex ever again."

Before they can answer, he's already gotten up and left the garden behind.

For a while, they're both speechless about how they've just been played before Erestor finally chuckles.

"Well, still better than the mountains or Mirkwood."

Glorfindel rolls his eyes, but he's nice enough to reach under Erestor's robe and at least free him from that damn cage so they can _both_ get rid of their worst pent-up lust with a few quick, erratic strokes on each other's steel hard cocks. A necessity, really, before they can get anywhere near people again.

They're obviously never returning to that garden; but at least after a decade or two, Glorfindel makes it to look at Celebrían again without fiercely blushing.


	28. Castle of your thoughts [Evil twin]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Evil twin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: around TA 1080
> 
> This oneshot is connected to the next two chapters, it can be read standalone though. You might want to know how the story goes on though ;). Also, while there's no non con in the traditional sense going on here, there's a little bit of unwanted spying on dirty memories happening.

"You have the wrong door. Too much wine for dinner?" Glorfindel stares at his nightly visitor – both of them – too perplexed to even remember the half-inch of a nod that he usually grants the King of Mirkwood for a greeting, as a bad excuse of a bow.

For once, Thranduil looks too upset even to complain about his impertinence. A more absent than sharp gaze from ice-blue eyes wanders in cool analysis over Glorfindel's wrinkled night tunic and the hastily put-on, loose breeches before it turns past him to the plainly furnished guestroom.

"He's not here either." It's not a question.

The elfling on the King's arm startles at his father's harsh voice. Burying his face in the King's suspiciously messy gold blond hair, he quietly sobs away.

"Why should he, at this time?" Glorfindel finds with annoyance that his cheeks are flushing, both from the fact that neither of them even needs to mention whom they're talking about, and from Thranduil rolling his eyes at him while he's softly caressing his son's small back.

Erestor and him had good reasons for insisting on separated bedrooms – there's enough rumors about their relationships in all the big elven realms as it is –, but apparently, there's no fooling someone who spent so much time with Glorfindel's casual lover lately.

Enough, apparently, to for some reason, seek out Erestor's council in the middle of the night. The bad lightning of the underground halls makes it hard to tell, but there seems to be a fine line of honest worry between Thranduil's thick brows.

"My son had a bad dream about his favorite uncle," he explains, visibly reluctantly, before Glorfindel can ask. "He insisted, we go see if Erestor is alright, but his chambers are empty. They should have been back an hour ago."

Nothing is keeping Glorfindel in the doorway anymore. With a few long strides, he's in the corner where he keeps his battle tunics and armor, a soundless curse on his lips. He never should have fallen asleep.

He never should have _stayed back_. If Thranduil's heir wouldn't once more have been the little brat he tends to be, they might only have learned about the trouble the next morning.

Glorfindel is astonished by King even caring about something as trivial as nightmare, if he's being honest. Thranduil even seems sober for his standards. Glorfindel guesses, he should thank the old eccentric later, if he gets around to it.

After the last years of basically living in his wine cellar, Oropher's son seems to do better, and that's mostly thanks to Erestor. After some unspoken, eerie and highly dangerous forces have moved into that one damn castle in these woods and Thranduil's wife fell victim to exactly these powers, so shortly after giving birth … The whole realm would probably be in shambles by now if Lord Elrond hadn't sent his chief advisor to help.

After more than a decade, Erestor is of the opinion that the King can go on alone, so Glorfindel came here the moment that letter arrived, with relief and the anticipation to finally have his non-partner close to him again.

He should just have dragged him out of here instead of getting persuaded to take a few days of rest after the long journey.

They meant to leave tomorrow, but Erestor insisted, _of course_ , on another short ride through these doomed woods to collect a few plants that he wants to cultivate in Imladris. Telling Glorfindel with a huff and an eye-roll that he's perfectly capable to take care of himself, and that Glorfindel should get some sleep, or they'd both be too exhausted to be properly alert on their ride tomorrow.

Without knowing details, Glorfindel is pretty sure that agreeing might have been one of the stupidest moves of his life, closely ranked next to deciding that hair ties are horribly overrated when your city is under siege.

He tries, a few times, while he dresses and then impatiently follows Thranduil through this damn labyrinth of a palace to the surface and the stables there, to join the soldiers the King is gathering for the search. But there's always been only a very vague and unreliable kind of mental connection between Erestor and him, due to the solely physical nature of their relationship. It's … cold when he tries to reach him in his mind, utterly dark.

Until he can finally get on a horse and leave the premises behind without looking to see if the others can keep up, he makes it to convince himself that his lover is surely only unconscious or maybe even sleeping peacefully in some tent somewhere, because it's gotten too late and dark to return.

Everything is better than even considering the alternative.

He wakes up in pain, and _that's_ a new one. Pain, since Erestor's youth, has only ever been a very vague concept. Many a healer has tried to find out, in vain, why his tolerance of any kind of physical damage is so low that he can't even fit some damn soldier armor because he keeps on messing up his own training routines and is unable to gain sufficient muscle tissue. At some point he stopped caring.

That the whole thing has been quite convenient on most days, he realizes only now when he is torn from deep sleep by a sensation in his right thigh as if someone's set it on fire. A confused groan on his lips, he tries to blink his sight free, remember what happened and reach for the angrily throbbing area at the same time, but his body feels numb; he can hardly lift his hand.

"Breathe. You're safe now. They're gone." A voice just as blurred as the shapes around him. He can't make out more than a tall shape in the backlight of the entrance of whatever room he's being in, nothing but black and white really. The angry hammering behind his forehead doesn't help.

 _They_ …?

Right. Orcs. Too much of them for their small group to take them down, and when they turned their horses to ride back to the palace … Erestor has been pulled down from his mare, he remembers that, by the twinge in his right elbow and twisted ankle alone. He's fallen, and there was a sharp flare on his left side, just above the edge of his metal leg guard, red wetness splashing on some scarred, snow-white body standing above him, and then …

Then nothing.

This time, he makes it to get his hand to his loins and feels thick bandages, half-way soaked through already. He's not sure, they made it to patch up the artery. Given that annoying fog in his head, how nauseous he feels and that every movement weighs a ton, chances are probably not too good. This doesn't look like the Elvenking's Halls, and there's no one else but the shape a few feet away in sight – it can really be only one person. That probably doesn't bode well for the three soldiers who were supposed to protect him, which hurts so much more than any wound.

"Glorfindel, is that you? Where's the others?" His voice is still a rough, too quiet croak. There's a disgusting taste in his mouth. He almost retches when he really perceives it for the first time and spits over the side of whatever too soft mattress he's lying on.

The shapes fall into place, finally, as the other approaches him. There's big bags of worry under Glorfindel's brilliant blue eyes, and he looks narrower than when Erestor has left him back there in the palace, probably due to his crestfallen, hunched position.

"I'm sorry. I came too late. I could only pull you out of there. They've almost made it to bring you to Dol Guldur. We're in a cave nearby. There's too many of them around; I can't fight them and bring you to the palace at the same time. Especially not with the situation there."

A hate-filled expression distorts his too pale features. His hand clenches down on a leather-clad thigh. His fingertips and nails are almost black as if he's had to dig Erestor out of some pit earlier.

There's obviously a lot, his friend is not telling him, but the most important thing, Erestor has already made out in what Glorfindel is not saying. It's enough to pull himself together, because there's no way, he'll stay on that damn cot any minute longer. "What's happening there?"

"One of the King's soldiers found us an hour ago. He's made it out of there just in time. The Halls are sieged, Erestor. They don't know about the King and his son. Maybe they're …" That's where Glorfindel stops and rubs his eyes with a shudder.

Thranduil and he can't stand each other's guts, but the Crown Prince has taken a big liking to his new favorite golden-haired uncle in the last days. Glorfindel has always been good with the elflings. The thought that some dark armies might take down one of the few elven realms left on this world so shortly after the last war is obviously unbearable for Lord Elrond's renowned general.

Erestor couldn't agree more. "We need to get there." With his teeth clenched, he tries to brace himself up on his elbows, push himself upright, but falls back with a scream. Even the smallest nudge against his thigh makes him feel like someone thrusting a hot iron up his leg.

"You're not going anywhere." Glorfindel presses him against the bed with a much too cold hand on his shoulder. There's a faint unpleasant, salty scent coming from his skin. Apparently they've been out here for far too long already. "I'm going back with the soldiers I came here with as soon as you're not dying on me anymore. You need to lie still, or those stitches will never hold. Don't worry. We'll help the palace. I'll get the King and the Prince out of there before anything happens to them. You need to help me out here, though. I need to get in there without being seen."

Erestor shakes his head in confusion and grimaces again when a short cough burns in his dry throat. "From me? You've been there yourself. What you don't know, the soldiers will."

Glorfindel rolls his eyes at him dramatically. At least that is familiar. "Don't you think I've asked? Those are mostly marchwardens. None of them has ever been to the King's private chambers. You were. Give me what you can, Erestor, please. And hurry. Time is short."

Erestor knows, and he tries. But after his little stunt, he can hardly open his mouth without agonized moans coming from it. There's a stinging burn all around his left leg as if something's trying to tear it from its socket, and every smallest twitch of muscle makes it worse. After spending so many centuries blissfully without that sensation, he can hardly think clear now, not to mention remember anything or breathe deeply enough to talk about it.

Again, this cold touch at the back of his head, carefully lifting it enough so Glorfindel can place a big goblet against his lips. After a first sip, Erestor immediately recognizes the foul taste. It's the same he's just spitted out. But Glorfindel gently holds him in place when he tries to turn his head away so he keeps on drinking. If the stuff helps, he shouldn't be whining like a damn elfling.

"What is that?" His voice suddenly sounds surprisingly clear when he's as comfortable as possible on the bed again. To his relief, a little of that cruel pain indeed subsides.

"Sure, you want to know?" An apologetic grin plays across Glorfindel's face, as always when he's either fucked something up or tries to ease Erestor into something he doesn't want to accept.

Erestor shudders. If his body hadn't once more felt so heavy that he can hardly turn his head, he'd probably have gagged again when he finally recognizes the familiar note of copper and metal on his tongue. " _What_ …?"

"It's just mine, don't worry." Glorfindel points at the bandage on his arm that Erestor hasn't even noticed. "There's not much else around here to help. You know, they did equip me with one or two useful powers when they sent me back." Again that grin, toothy, almost a little too broad for the situation. "You just need a little strength for your wounds to start healing before we can get you out of here." After a soothing touch against his hair, Erestor feels a little more at ease.

"I can smash a few strawberries in it though, if that makes you feel better."

Erestor returns his chuckle and shrugs the discomfort away that he's never heard about such a healing technique. He's probably just too exhausted to remember. Glorfindel, he can trust, always.

Besides, there's no time for debates. Remembering what he's been asked, he tries to talk once more, but his tongue is heavy, and he's still short breathed.

"It's alright, go easy on yourself." Glorfindel rests his hand on his forehead and closes his eyes. "Let me in. Just … take me on a little tour."

Erestor wants to, he really does. But putting together details of the past in his head keeps on being hard. His world is still spinning around him even with closed eyes, as if his subconsciousness is fighting the intrusion of his lover's thoughts that have been in his own countless times.

When he can't focus on any particular place, he just lets his memories wander to the last one in the palace he's spent much time in, to find a starting point.

He wanted to go for his chambers but instead finds himself in a hot grotto adjacent to the King's bedroom, buck naked, with his just as bared lover in his arms as the hot water ripples around them.

He blushes deeply and hears Glorfindel laugh, the other's face so close to his now that he can again sense that weird, too sweet note of mold on him. But the living memories are stronger.

The Glorfindel in his head laughs too and kisses him gently as he rubs his body against Erestor's in a slow, languid movement to the rhythm of unsung music. Lazy fingertips are catching on the Mithril rings in Erestor's chest, holding on to them while Glorfindel rubs their steel heard erections against each other in his other fist until Erestor bucks and shivers.

Erestor wants to pull him in for a kiss, but Glorfindel dives under the surface suddenly, and then there's even hotter warmth engulfing his cock. It's all Erestor can do to bite down on his own fist, to stop himself from coming right there and then, or from becoming loud enough to wake their royal host just a doorway away from them.

"Right. That one." The Glorfindel in the present clears his throat, audibly amused. "Not exactly a place he invites everyone to, is it? Not that I'm complaining, it's been fun. But seriously, did you sleep with him for that privilege?"

_Very funny._ Erestor switches to mindspeak; it's easier for his weakened body, and he can at least try to will his thoughts away from that memory that has no place here right now.

 _He only likes blond lovers. So if he ever finds out, we've been there last night, it will be_ your _job to bail us out. I hear he has a huge armor kink._

"I think I'll rather stick with you, my dear." Again that slightly inappropriate, slightly too loud laugh.

Erestor frowns, but then he forgets about it because the Glorfindel in his head comes back to the surface to straddle him, reaching down to adjust himself and sink down on him, without stopping even once, moaning shamelessly, ignoring the burn and chafe from the too little slide from the water.

Even drugged and in pain, apparently Erestor's hormones aren't fully asleep because his cock gives a very interested twitch at the memory. He rolls his eyes at himself and tries again, violently, to tear his thoughts away from that picture that his mind clings to, almost desperately, as if it's trying to recoil from what it's actually supposed to do.

When he opens his eyes again in frustration, he withdraws from that too firm grip on his forehead, because for a moment, Glorfindel's eyes are almost black in the bad lightning.

They're also impatient, anger-filled even, with nothing left of that harmless teasing from a moment ago … Maybe it wasn't really all that harmless.

"Something's not right here." Erestor feels it more by the second. When he tries to sit up once more, to finally get a better look at this place, he realizes that he can indeed hardly move at this point. The stuff he's been drinking, is paralyzing his muscles instead of just soothing his thoughts away from the pain, and something is not right about _that_ either.

"What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" His opposite's grin is more forced and less cheerful by the second. This time, the iron grip around his shoulder almost pierces his flesh when he's being pushed back down. "Stay. I told you, you need rest. Here, drink some more, it will calm you down."

This time, Erestor makes it to knock the cup away from his companion's hand before it can come close to his lips. "I don't need to calm down. I need to know where I am."

"I told you, we're …"

"There's no birds, no stars in that sky out there, and no sound of wind. This is no cave." Erestor gets annoyed with himself more and more, for falling for such a stupid deception.

And something else is coiling in his stomach, more unpleasant than any injury. Fear. Whatever they want from him: He won't be a match for someone who is able to get into his head like that, not in his condition.

When he tries anyway, the other doesn't even hide the brutality anymore that he presses him down with. "Stop this! You're confused and feverish. Stay still! I don't want anything to happen to you …"

"A little too late for that, isn't it?" Erestor forces himself to lie still, only to try and get out whatever is in his system as quickly as possible. If he can collect enough strength …

But keeping still is hard when you suddenly know that it's not the face of the person in your life being so close to you, that you see right before you. "Take. Your. Hands. Off. Me."

At least this time, the false Glorfindel obeys, probably still trying to maintain his cover. Sighing, he takes that damn cup again and opens the bandage on his arm to refill it. The blood seeping from an almost bone-deep cut is way too dark, almost purple.

"It will be alright, Erestor. You just need to calm down. I'm here, I'll take care of you."

"I thought you need to leave for the palace." Why has the guy been stalling for so long anyway when time apparently is so short? Erestor can't believe how fucking stupid he has been.

"Not until you are feeling better. You're my top priority, you always were." There's a strange, almost alive looking flickering in Glorfindel's too dark pupils. Whatever it is, Erestor doesn't like it.

"Oh, really? Suddenly?"

"What are you talking about?" Oh, that thing is _good_. Very good. He even has Glorfindel's highly offended look down, to the last twitch of lid, the perfect angled pout of plushy lips. "I love you, Erestor, don't you know that?"

"Sure. Whoever you are: Nice try." When the being leans over him again with the stupid cup in his hand, Erestor has somehow mustered up enough energy to tear it away from him and bring his arm forward. New blood from the cup is splashing everywhere as he attacks his opponent with the sharp edges of the rim, right in his chest.

Both the vessel and his hand are punching right through the being's body. Its shape melts away before Erestor's wide eyes. Whatever substance it's made of, is now covering Erestor's hand and lower arm. It feels like acid tearing his skin open.

Erestor screams hoarsely and tries to wipe the stuff away, but there is nothing there, only a dark dungeon cell, a bug infested mattress under him and blood soaking both mattress and his clothes. More blood is running over his left thigh in rivulets. He's being so damn _cold_ suddenly, and Erestor understands, he's bleeding out.

And then there's suddenly loud noise, and the sound of a well-known, beloved voice, this time without any amusement, scorn or condescension, instead filled by pure panic.

Erestor is finally losing consciousness.

This time, when he wakes up, it's right. He's in the rooms of the healers of that palace that he knows inside out by now. His body is stitched up and bandaged, and there's a very worried looking King sitting by his bedside who looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"You need to secure the premises." It's the first thing Erestor manages to get out when he's at least half-way convinced that he's not dreaming anymore, that this is not another illusion. That it will be alright, at least if he stops suffering in beauty and gets back to work. It's mostly the dulled, familiarly low sensation of pain in his leg and arm that convinces him that whatever nightmare he's been trapped in, is over. And that means, he has to warn the others.

"He was interrogating me. I tried to resist, but …"

"I know." Thranduil grants him a rare, soothing smile. "Their spies were following you when they brought you back. The reinforcements slayed them before they could even get close. I've doubled the patrols. Stay on your back."

Thranduil regards Erestor's weak attempt to stir, to try and estimate how much is wrong with his body, with a disapproving growl. "Your leg will need a lot of time to heal, I'm afraid. The orcs have made your wound much worse with barbed wire and poisoned bandages. The Lord of Imladris is already on his way here," he quickly adds when the fearful worry of the consequences of this assault shines on Erestor's face. "He will help. You'll just have to set up office in here for a while."

"No way," Erestor murmurs, trying at least to find a hint of humor back in a situation that's getting worse by the second. "Your library is a _mess_. Your servants would need years to find what I need. Besides …"

He has another quip on his lips but then he turns to the bedside table to reach for a glass of water there, and immediately drops it when he sees Glorfindel leaning against the wall on the other side of the room.

"Erestor?" He must look as sick as he suddenly feels. The King sounds seriously alarmed.

" _He_ ... Is this …?" Erestor reaches for his forehead when he suddenly feels dizzy again, the taste of stale copper filling his mouth. "Am I really out of there?" He looks around in growing panic, trying to find any signs of another illusion, tries to sit up all the way, swing his legs over the bedside and get away from here, away from this bad copy that will try once more to invade his mind, his _will_ …

Thranduil's hand is on his shoulder – at least just a clumsy grasp this time, not a brutal one anymore, from someone who's long not used anymore to comfort people –, before Erestor even collapses back with a scream on his lips. Such efforts are too big trouble still, even for his high pain tolerance.

"Erestor, look at me. You're in the palace, you're free. We killed that being, whatever it was."

"I'm sorry …" Tears suddenly fill Erestor's eyes, and when he tries to wipe them away, only more are coming. He doesn't dare look in that corner anymore, doesn't want to feel that sense of overwhelming dread anymore when looking at someone who's supposed to be his lover, his closest friend, his ally …

"I … He took the general's shape, I couldn't ... I don't know ..."

Thranduil just nods briefly, understanding everything he can't say.

"Glorfindel, I think you should leave for a moment."

When Erestor forces himself to look back, he sees Glorfindel stare at him, deathly pale, with tears in his eyes himself, completely dumbfounded. "But … Erestor, please ..."

Erestor shudders and turns away again, because that tone just sounds _so much_ like the one he's fallen for not too long ago. "I can't ..."

That's when he hears, fortunately, how Glorfindel pushes himself away from that wall and shuffles to the door with heavy steps.

When he opens it, Legolas suddenly comes running in who's apparently only waited for such a chance to see the grumpy, black-clothed elf who's been by his father's side so often in the last years. " _Uncle Erestor_! You're back!"

Glorfindel reacts before even Thranduil can and immediately sweeps the elfling in his arms, keeping him from approaching the bed, and in his enthusiasm doing more harm to a damaged body than good. "Careful, little one. Your uncle needs a little sleep. We'll come back later, alright?"

Legolas pouts a little and magically puts a few tears in his big blue eyes. But when Erestor smiles and nods at him best as he can, in spite of the feeling as if his heart is breaking in two, he snuggles up to Glorfindel with a little shrug and a yawn, his little hands buried in the elf's hip-length curls.

And suddenly Erestor knows, he _really_ knows. That, the other couldn't copy. This has never been in his own head, not these brand-new clothes of the elfling, not this kind of peaceful picture. Whatever this thing was, it's never seen a fifteen year old Princeling that the King is hiding away here from the world since his mother's death.

"Fin?" His voice sounds still too quiet, too hesitative.

Thranduil takes the clue anyway and takes his son from Glorfindel's arms, pulling the door close behind the two of them.

"Tell me what I can do, Erestor, please." Glorfindel looks so lost when he sits down by his bedside, so devastated and worried, and angry at the same time …

Erestor wants to reach out and hold him, but once more, his body feels paralyzed, and this time, it's not drugs. "I don't know. He's used my thoughts about you. It was so _real_ …"

A tentative touch of a foreign soul behind his forehead, Glorfindel's pleading voice in there, just has him startle even more. Glorfindel means well, but that's not making anything better.

"No, don't … He's been there as well. I … I can't, I'm sorry …" He has to turn away because the phantom taste of blood in his mouth and the coldness of a strange presence inside his mind become too strong. There's a fire burning just a few feet away, but he's never been freezing so badly in his life.

Glorfindel leaves him alone without another word.

Thranduil thinks, Erestor just needs a few hours to come around, but when Glorfindel comes back the next day, his lover doesn't react to anything anymore.

Not to him, not to the King, not to any healer. Not to any painful treatments of his scarred hand or his mangled leg. Getting him to move, to change the bandages is a drag, and he can't force down anything more than a few spoonful of broth before he brings up most of it again.

Then he already falls back asleep again and doesn't wake up again for more than a day, and the cycle keeps repeating itself. Erestor has withdrawn completely into his own little world, a very dark one at times, as Glorfindel very well knows.

Maybe he's trying to heal himself there. Or maybe, there has even more happened in that damn dungeon that none of them knows about.

Glorfindel only knows that he's failed, and not only at Erestor's kidnapping. If the two of them wouldn't have always fought it so much what has been connecting them for more than an Age already, they would be bonded so much deeper. Glorfindel would have found Erestor immediately, instead of having to follow his screams first. He'd also known right away that something was wrong before they have even taken his lover.

He failed protecting the one he's been supposed to take care of ever since Gondolin. Now there's only the weak hope that Elrond will get through to Erestor.

The hope that one day, Glorfindel will get a chance to finally tell him what he feels. Maybe there'll be that happy ending for them after all that neither of them ever believed in.

Until then, he can just keep on sitting in his silent corner in the sick room and watch his unmoving lover, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

It's the biggest defeat he's ever had to face since the Balrog.


	29. A taste of you [Vore]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Vore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: around TA 1080
> 
> This oneshot is connected to the previous chapter and the next, it can be read standalone though. There's NO vore in the classical sense happening here, as it is not my thing, instead some good ol' vampirism.

Glorfindel hasn't had the best experiences with being woken up in the middle of the night lately, especially not by his current kingly host. His heart drops when he sees Thranduil standing outside his door, _again_ , with his dozy son on his arm, _again_. All the fear and worry for his heavily injured lover of the last weeks are coiled to nausea in his stomach. He's wide awake immediately. For a moment, he's absolutely convinced, that he fucked up _again_ , by agreeing to spend a few hours in his chambers for a change and not in Erestor's sick room. That his partner has finally given up on the arduous recovery after his recent kidnapping and left for the Halls, and Glorfindel hasn't even _been_ there …

Thranduil takes pity on him before he can stammer out a question. "The Lord arrived has arrived a while ago. He wants to see us."

It's only thanks to the elfling's presence that Glorfindel's instinctive reaction isn't to break the Sinda's nose. "A _while ago_?" What exactly was so hard to understand about _Let me know immediately when Lord Elrond approaches the palace_?

Thranduil isn't impressed by his anger. He just nods him along, murmuring something about the Lord wanting to take a first look at his battered chief advisor alone.

The cheeky elfling on his arm doesn't have half as many inhibitions. "Uncle Elrond said, he can't stand having ada and you in the same room when he cares for a patient!"

"Did he now, hm?" In spite of himself, Glorfindel has to grin. After hastily putting on some more formal clothing, he tenderly ruffles through the elfling's half-long hair when he passes the two of them by and chuckles when the cranky youngling pushes his hand away.

Legolas really is a miniature version of his father already. Apparently, the sass and moodiness comes with the gold blond hair and those striking ocean blue eyes too. The visits of the little one have been Glorfindel's only light in the last days of endless waiting.

And though Erestor in his entirely absent-minded condition has not reacted to the princeling either, Glorfindel has the impression, his lover at least sleeps better when he's in the room. Erestor has always been much better with elflings than he gives himself credit for.

Just considering that two of them – out of their own damn stubbornness – will never get a chance to consider maybe taking responsibility for such an innocent little being themselves, in one way or another, is another poisoned arrow to Glorfindel's heart.

All of this because they never admitted how much they really feel for each other. Because it was so much easier, restricting themselves to physical pleasures and pretending, that way, it wouldn't smash the other to pieces, if one of them had to leave untimely for the Halls. It's taken this very real possibility first to make Glorfindel realize that love is not playing by their naïve rules, not asking what they want. That it will hurt even more now, losing someone he's never told how much he really means to him.

They're not quite there _yet_. At least that much, the Lord can calm him down when he welcomes them by the sick rooms, wisely with cups of hillside herb tea ready, for a weary king and general, and one of cacao for an elfling who actually long should be in his bed.

"The wounds aren't fatal." After a hasty, absent bow of greeting on Glorfindel's side, Elrond invites them to a group of comfortable chairs for visitors, opposite the door he's spent the last hours in.

"The arteries and deepest cuts from the barbed wire are closed now. And once the superficial damage from the acid is taken care of, given time and enough regenerative therapy, his arm will look and function mostly like before."

Glorfindel isn't liking the _mostly_ in that last statement too much. But he's ready to let that slide for the moment, in exchange for finding out why there's these deep wrinkles on Elrond's high forehead, in spite of this actually very good news.

"Still waiting for the _but_."

"The but is the fever from an infection that should have been gone for days. And the fact that he can hardly keep any food down, which not only slows the whole healing process but is eating the very meat off his bones. Have you _seen_ him?" There's an reproachful edge to Elrond's warm voice that doesn't exactly help Glorfindel's own doubts about himself.

"If we don't get any nutrition into him … Another week like that, and his body will give out on him. And even if not: If the healing process isn't speeding up soon, he might lose his leg after all." Elrond stares down into his half empty cup as if the solution to all this trouble could be read somewhere in there. It's been very long since Glorfindel last saw his Lord so frustrated.

"There's no damage in his body that I can detect that is doing this. Something's happened to his mind, a blockade to everything that would further his recovery. He's gone lucid again after I could enter his mind and convince him that he's safe here, but just smelling food makes his stomach turn."

"Is there a point to this whole rambling?"

For once, Glorfindel is actually glad to have Thranduil's rude behind in the room, because he's not sure, he could have spoken up himself after hearing his worst suspicions confirmed.

"No offense, Peredhel, but you're telling me nothing my own healers haven't guessed. If you've only come to bring the mood down, you could have saved yourself the journey."

"Sobriety doesn't become you, Oropherion." Elrond pinches the bridge of his nose with an unnerved headshake.

"That being … demon, whatever you want to call it that has held Erestor prisoner at Dol Guldur, had a very powerful mental influence on him. My best guess at this point is that this self-destructive behavior has been planted into his head in case of escape. It's long since I've been in the presence of something so hateful. And you should better not be so sure that a few arrows of your men put an end to this thing, Your Majesty. Still, your people helped get him out of there just in time. It looks like the monster couldn't finish what it was trying to do to him."

In an unusual informal posture, Elrond leans forward, with his arms crossed over his legs, nervous fingertips trying to put a single loose braid back into shape. Glorfindel has to hold back hard from shaking his next words out of him.

"If my assumptions are right, there might be a way, we can help Erestor, but it's not exactly conventional. I've spent almost six hours in this room, and the only time in that whole treatment that Erestor's cells actually responded to my healing energy was when we went on the journey of his torture in his mind together. Specifically at the moment, when the demon has fed him. Seeing as you were its actual target, Your Majesty, it looks like Erestor's reconditioning was an alternative plan, if direct attack on this palace failed. The demon was trying to get him addicted to blood, to the point where he would have become a danger to everyone here."

Only when a soothing hand closes gently around Glorfindel's shoulder, he realizes how much he's shaking suddenly. With even the King at a loss for words, all he can think about, all _Erestor_ is doubtlessly thinking about still, is how the demon used Glorfindel's face to do all this to him, and the elemental, paralyzing fear his lover can never forget that.

Maybe the Halls wouldn't be such a bad place for Elrond's chief advisor right now after all. Glorfindel fails to see how someone can come back from such an intrusion into their very own soul.

He still asks, because he has to, but the encouraging squeeze of his shoulder can't fill his voice with any optimism. "So can you break the spell?"

The answer is relieving and even more devastating at the same time. "With time, I think, yes. In many hours that we will have to spend together in his head. But until then, we will have to still the craving of his body that his mind tells him he has, or he'll starve to death right in front of our eyes."

"You want to make him drink blood. Like that demon did." After that epic prologue, it shouldn't come as a surprise anymore, but it's Glorfindel now who feels, he can never eat again.

"It's either that or watching him wither. What do you prefer?" Again that clear tinge of anger directed straight at him that has even Thranduil raise an eyebrow in confusion.

It is a remarkable night. The King is the last one Glorfindel has suspected to jump to his defense. "If you want to blame someone, send a written complaint to my palace, Peredhel. It was me and my people who didn't take care of yours properly. We can discuss that in detail once we've taken care of this abomination. I'll let the hunters know. They've returned just a few hours ago anyway. The meat is still fresh enough to draw blood."

"We _tried_ that." Again that touch of Elrond's nose that reveals a bad headache being on its way. "It needs to be elvish. _Full_ elvish. Mine isn't doing any good."

Only now, Glorfindel notices the thin bandage on Elrond's wrist, and his throat is immediately too tight to even try and get out an answer.

"You know, you could have just started with this, then we'd be long done here." Rolling his eyes, Thranduil carefully puts down his now sleeping son on an empty chair next to his. Under Elrond's and Glorfindel's astonished gaze, he gets out a dagger from a under his knee-length long tunic. "Is any of you done with that disgusting tea yet? I need a cup."

Glorfindel finds, reluctantly, that the respect he's developing for the King of this strange, dangerous but undeniably beautiful and powerful realm is growing with every day of this crisis.

Even Elrond seems surprised. "Your Majesty?"

"Spare me the soppiness. Erestor has protected this realm and its people when I couldn't." Thranduil's free hand gently comes to rest on his son's pale forehead, tender enough not to wake him. A grief far from processed, but at least not that crushing anymore, chokes his voice for a moment before he straightens up, shooting the Lord another sharp look.

"And don't think I don't know, the whole thing was your idea in the first place, Peredhel. I like to pay my debts quickly, that's all."

After so much surprising good will, it's Glorfindel's turn not to be petty about their constant conflicts at least for a night, no matter how much he'll regret that later.

"No," he intervenes harshly, before Elrond can, nodding down on Legolas. "You have someone to take care of. Get yourself together and start being a good ruler and an even better father again. That is what Erestor would want you to do, and you'll need your strength for that. Depending on how much it needs to satisfy this curse, I might be the only one to get through this unscathed anyway."

"I'm not sure, this is a good idea." The bite is gone for the moment, now there's only honest worry left in Elrond's sunken bright eyes as he looks back and forth between Glorfindel and the sick room. "He knows, in his rational mind, that you're no danger to him, but every wrong word or action brings back the memories of his ordeal that will only drain his energy further. I can't tell what it does to him if it's _really_ you he's being forced to drink from this time."

"I'm not planning to force anything on him. If you actually think so, you have never known me." Glorfindel is too exhausted to even be truly offended.

"We don't know how he reacts until we try. If he truly can't stand being close to me anymore, we can still gut His Majesty of Mirkwood." The shallow joke is the best he can do to keep his thoughts away from that recurring fear of never being allowed be with his lover again.

Thranduil suddenly looks quite interested in that shiny white dagger again, just not in using it on himself anymore. "You know, Gondolindrim, if you are so desperate for another Kinslaying, all you had to do was ask."

Elrond is already on his way back to his patient and only looks back on them long enough to glare. "If you're done flirting then – time is short."

The same disgusted shudder coming both from Glorfindel and his favorite enemy, just from imaging such a perversion, at least makes _one_ of them laugh.

Glorfindel is surprised by how little Erestor resists the plan, and at the same time, not at all.

His lover might not be as vocal as him about it, but he's just as terrified as Glorfindel. Whenever Glorfindel reaches out to his lover's mind via the unstable, unreliable connection between them – very carefully because that brings back the memories for Erestor as well –, all he can see is grief and fear of the future.

Erestor doesn't _want_ to fade. He clings to this life in that beautiful home they've built themselves in that valley over the mountains, with his books, the animals, the plants, even the other Imladris residents, no matter how little he pretends to care for most other elves. He doesn't want to be stuck in the west with a kind of distance between the two of them, neither of them can overcome until peace will one day, hopefully, find these damn realms here.

He wants to keep _fighting_.

This is what Glorfindel sees when he sits down by his bedside after they've sent everyone out. But Erestor is shaking again under the two thick blankets, and it only gets worse when Glorfindel spreads a third over his alarmingly thin body, just grazing his too cold shoulder when he pulls it tight. It's the first time they're alone since the morning after Glorfindel brought Erestor home from that damn haunted fortress, and nothing's changed.

But when he turns away, ready to find someone else to do this, anyone who won't do more harm than good, a clammy, shy hand closes around his.

Erestor is looking down at the covers in concentration when he turns his head, his pale lips a tight line, but he's not letting go.

Even more at a loss than before, Glorfindel sits down by his bedside and with his free hand, reaches for that cup again he's put on the bedside table.

He's not surprised one bit that Erestor immediately pulls away from him when he sees it, turning to his side as quickly as his healing leg allows him, reaching for a bowl there in a gesture that has already become sad routine. There can't be much more than bile and possibly his own blood coming up at this point. The retching sounds exhausted, pained.

Glorfindel knows he shouldn't but he could never stand seeing his lover in distress. So he reaches out instinctively to touch his back, hold back his dull-looking raven hair.

To his surprise, Erestor nuzzles back against him when it's over, seeking out the touch of his hand without turning back to him, a sound between a sob and a sigh on his lips. "Don't go. Please …"

"I don't _want_ to." There's a too rough edge to Glorfindel's own voice that he hates but can't swallow away. "But I don't know what I can _do_. How can I make you forget what this thing did to you?"

"You can't." When Erestor finally turns around, his dark eyes are surprisingly clear … and there's a careful drag of hope in his words. He's thought of something; in the midst of hopelessness, as it so often does, his tireless mind has sought out the reality they have to face and that, at the same time, might offer a way out of this horror.

"So make it better, Fin. Make it _right_. Do what he has not."

Glorfindel doesn't resist when he's being pulled closer, but he really isn't sure about this at all, until he's stretched out on the bed next to his lover, buried under those very same blanket, with one arm loosely around Erestor's waist, ready to pull back anytime. But the skin under his softly caressing fingertips finally feels a little warmer.

When their lips meet for a fleeting moment, Erestor's arm tightens around his shoulder, finally. His lover is pulling him a lot closer than Glorfindel would have dared to get to him, for worry about his injuries alone. And then Erestor is finally breaking down, crying out all the fear and anger and disgust about what happened to him against his shoulder.

It doesn't take long, Erestor lacks the strength for that. He's a good deal too dehydrated for many tears too. And his body feels so small, so breakable under Glorfindel's hands … He's never been too muscular, his inherent condition prevents that, but if he's not getting any sustenance inside of him soon, he will indeed wither like an old leaf.

Glorfindel knows better than to try it with the sledgehammer this time. But this time, he also ignores the startle he feels when he reaches for the dagger on his belt, putting it on the pillow between them. If he wants Erestor to live, he can't go too easy on him.

"I'm not him. I'm not doing anything to you that you don't want, Erestor. But I don't want you to leave. I know I'm not telling you that half as often as I should but … I … I need you."

He's not saying what he really feels, not right now, because he knows from what he's seen in his lover's head, the other, that illusion, has done that; and Erestor had no reason to believe it at that point. Words alone won't do any good right now. Glorfindel has to _show_ Erestor how deep things really run between them. How much he cares for that eccentric idiot, ever since he got to know that scrawny stray cat of a scribe back then in Gondolin.

"We both know you need this. So take it. Please." He bends forward for another kiss when Erestor's eyes go wide in shock. "It's alright. I'll be alright. And so will you."

"I knew you have suicidal tendencies, my cliff-diving friend, but this is getting ridiculous." Yes, things are definitely better. Erestor has his bad humor back. "They've tried to make me into a killing machine, and now you're asking me to cut you?"

"I trust you," Glorfindel states, simply and calmly, and he's maybe never felt anything truer in his heart.

It's enough to convince Erestor. Unsurprisingly, his lover has long caught on what they have to do, what they have to do _differently_ to what happened. With all the composure he's ever learned in his two lives, Glorfindel makes it to not flinch even an inch when smooth steel dances against the side of his neck, instead of his wrist as expected. One clean, swift movement …

And then Erestor is pulling him down against his lips with his good arm in a firm, almost desperate movement, his fingertips deeply buried in Glorfindel's hair. A soundless gasp of relief comes from his lips before he closes them around the fresh wound that doesn't do as much as faintly throb.

It's a sensation that rouses whole other images than of death and murder in Glorfindel's mind. With his face so close now to Erestor's bare shoulder, he can sense his lover's beloved, grounded scent of glue and bark again, faint under the note of salt and sickness under his skin, but still very much there. With every smallest lick and suck of his lover's mouth on his flesh, he can feel how Erestor's body in his arms trembles a little less. How after a little while, the dangerous underlying heat of fever is replaced with a much healthier one.

Soon enough, Glorfindel feels light-headed, too hot and shivering at the same time himself, though he is hardly losing enough blood to notice it. When he nestles closer to his lover, instinctively, his leg resting against Erestor's good one, he realizes without much surprise that they're both hard.

In all the adventures they've shared in bed, all the kinks they've developed in the course of the millennia in their bedroom, they've never done anything even remotely as intimate as this.

For a dangerous long second, their minds, as well, are closer to each other than ever. Glorfindel can _feel_ theirs souls tugging at each other, drawn to each other like sand and tide. He's tempted to just give in, finally let it happen what they long both know is right …

Then Erestor lets go of him, panting hard, with wide eyes, only trembling from the ecstasy suddenly playing between them now, and the moment ends. It's alright, Glorfindel can see it in Erestor's unbelieving, happy little smile. They'll talk about it another time, this time, they really will. When Erestor is doing better and can make decisions like that again without fever in his cells.

For now, it's enough that he's recovered so much, he can properly turn to his side, carefully lifting his bandaged leg up around Glorfindel's hips to be closer to him, desperate for his nearness, now that it no longer scares him. His lips are getting close to Glorfindel's again, but then he thinks better and moves back with an apologizing grin.

Glorfindel ignores it, just leans in to kiss him on his part, and no, it's not exactly pleasant, but after a while, the stale taste of copper is gone. All he has on his deeply probing tongue is his lover as they're grinding their hips into the other, searching for friction, for relief, for the confirmation that they are really back to where they were before this whole thing.

Erestor is the first one to reach down, but Glorfindel follows suit immediately, pushing his hand under his lover's loose breeches until he can feel his straining length heavy in his hand. They fall in their usual quick, firm rhythm as if nothing happened, moans drowned out against the other's lips to not make the elves making outside suspicious. For once, they don't need audience.

And still everything's different; Glorfindel can tell by the way Erestor slumps in his arms after they've both made a mess of their clothes, breathing way too shallow and fast for a few minutes of lust, close to blacking out in fact. There's still faint traces of dark red around his lips, and that's a little sickening even for a warrior who's seen enough of blood. Especially since it's clear, they're going to have to do this many more times before the Lord can come up with a solution to this whole thing, hopefully.

But it doesn't matter, not right now. They still have each other, no matter what kind of dark forces are trying to go after this world, after the elves, the Free Folks, after _them_.

With that knowledge, that he won't have to do it alone, Glorfindel thinks he can maybe actually make it to the end of another Age in this realms before giving up on it at last.


	30. Not such a bad thing [Aliens made them do it]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink prompt: Aliens made them do it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time frame: around TA 1080
> 
> This oneshot is connected to the previous two chapters, it can be read standalone though. I am once more breaking my arm with the reach of that prompt, but I am very proud to say, that I have now made it through the whole list that I've made with the generator mentioned in the beginning, except for the very last one. In the beginning, I honestly didn't think, I'd make that. I will pretend, this "kink month" has only 30 days though, as the last prompt is a very explicit non-con practice that would not fit the mood of this collection, no matter how much I try to bullshit my way around it this time.
> 
> So this is the end, and I hope, I made it an sufficiently happy end for these two idiots. Thanks for everyone who went on this journey with them with me. I'll make sure to provide you guys with more oneshots about them on this account from time to time; but please, do remember that Erestor and Glorfindel are also among the protagonists of my big LOTR series "Tales Untold", so don't be afraid to take a look at that. They will also be front and center in the follow up series in Valinor to Tales Untold, that I'll be starting to write soon. So yeah, I'm not giving up on them, ever :D.

"He's not getting better, is he?"

Glorfindel takes it off his Lord's hands, pronouncing what he already knows is subject of this meeting. That there wouldn't be good news, was to be expected. Last time, Lord Elrond, the King of Mirkwood and him have been sitting here in these plush chairs outside the palace' sick rooms, Glorfindel has been told that thanks to some evil spell, his lover would need to be drinking blood for the unforeseeable future. He has no reason to believe, his Lord has anything better to tell him today.

Glorfindel is not _stupid_. It's been almost two months since Erestor's kidnapping. If he was doing well, they would long be on their way to Imladris.

Elrond doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he thrusts the usual cups with that disgusting hillside herb tea into their hands that the Lord has been consuming for the last two Ages or so whenever he needs nerve-poison.

It was Erestor though who has brought the stuff here, back then when he came to Mirkwood to help the King out after some tragic losses. Glorfindel is pretty sure, Thranduil hasn't forgiven his temporary advisor yet for this particular plant being cultivated in his back yard.

The thought of his lover's little quirks especially in the garden makes him smile for a moment, but it doesn't last. He likes the look on Elrond's hollowed, pointed features too little for that. Neither of them has slept much lately, unlike their problem patient.

"What's wrong with him? You told me, it would help if he feeds on blood from time to time. Is it too little? We can double the draining sessions."

"So you end up lying next to him, because there's no blood in _your_ veins left? I don't think so." Elrond absently blows on his cup until the bitter-sharp scent of the smoke infuses the air above the seating area and Glorfindel's anxious mind feels numbed by that alone.

"The curse is not the problem. We're making good progress with that. In a few months, I'll have his mind free from the condition, this monster has forced on him in Dol Guldur. It's the other parts of his torture that he can't forget. And they're all carrying your face."

"You're telling me nothing new." Glorfindel puts down the damn cup so hard, it almost splits, ignoring the annoyed glance from ice-blue eyes piercing through him. He couldn't care less about a bit of damaged porcelain right now.

"What do we _do_? You told me, he's mending …"

"His body is, yes." Elrond's big, warm hand on his shoulder calms the worst of his temper out of him.

The last weeks have left his soul with paper-thin shields. If he's not careful, he'll end up like Thranduil.

"But his sleep is so restless that his healing factor is lower than even a Secondborn's. He has no energy to fight the last of infections from that wire on his thigh, and the nerves and muscles on his hand that the acid burned, aren't responding to resurrection. That he's dozing through most of our healing sessions, makes it hard to get to his mind. He hasn't even asked for a book or parchment to work with, and that's frankly what worries me the most. It's Erestor's soul that is sick, Glorfindel. I have never seen him in such a bad shape."

"Why though?" Glorfindel rests his face in his hands when the cruel worry washes over him again that his lover could give up his life in these realms after all, that he'd soon be far away from him, for millennia or more, when he's reborn. All of that without Glorfindel getting a chance to tell him how he really feels.

It's _wrong_ , and it doesn't make sense. "Why now? I have seen him go through worse in Gondolin, than a little bit of drugs and pain and a few hours of someone invading his mind."

"Do you really not know?"

Glorfindel doesn't like the way, Elrond exchanges unnerved glances with the King of all people. If those two are agreeing on something, that means mostly trouble.

"He doesn't show it, Glorfindel, because he doesn't want to hurt you, but he's still afraid of you. In weak moments, his head is still lying to him about you being real, especially in his sleep. The only security, Erestor had all his life since, is gone. Right after he's been confronted with a new kind of evil in this world that has made him realize, just like the rest of us, that we will maybe never be able to live here in peace. What _is_ he supposed to hold on to?"

"What can I do, milord? How can I _help_ him?" Glorfindel doesn't lower his hands, doesn't want the others to see that he's never felt so alone since being dragged off a cliff by his own damn hair.

"By the only thing that this other being couldn't pretend to be for him. Your souls need to become one, Glorfindel, not only your thoughts."

When Glorfindel can bring himself to look up, eyes full of tears of helplessness, Elrond lets go off him only to reach for his too cold hands instead. "I know. This isn't how such things should happen. But it's not like this is a punishment for either of you, is it? At least if you finally stop lying to yourself."

Glorfindel unwillingly pulls away. "I did, centuries ago. And then I did again, weeks ago, when we thought, Erestor was dying on us. I _will_ marry him, milord. I just don't think it fair to push such a decision on him when he's bedridden and too feverish to think clear."

Elrond buries both hands in his thick black hair as if he's about to pull some of it out. "Glorfindel, by the … Do you know why I was so mad at you when I came here?"

Glorfindel shrugs, hardening himself. If they're going back to arguing and putting blame, that's fine with him. It's easier than considering throwing himself into the next emotional pit on a whim.

"I failed, both you and him. I should have gone with him on that stupid ride."

Elrond seems to be seriously considering throwing his cup at his head for a moment. "You can't protect anyone 24 hours a day, Glorfindel, not even your loved ones. But you could have lessened the harm done, if you two wouldn't have wasted the love that the Valar have blessed you with Ages ago. They're doing these things for a reason, you know. This is what a marriage bond is for, among other things: to detect danger for the person closest to you and find them when they need you."

"I made a mistake, I _know_ that. I can't help that now …"

An grip hard as iron around Glorfindel's wrist stills him when he wants to get up and turn his back to his Lord as if that could make the crisis go away … or the truth in Elrond's words.

"If you want to help him, _stop_ that ridiculous dance of yours. Stop finding _excuses_ , Glorfindel. Erestor has been wanting to marry you since the day he first saw you."

The air is heavy for many long moments with a revelation that Glorfindel wishes he had known about earlier. But surprised, he is not. He has never given Erestor reason to trust him with this confession.

They were both so very comfortable with telling themselves, it would be easier like this. With no obligations, no joy between them but physical one, with no grief if one of them should fall. That was until now, when Glorfindel is in the process of losing that elf he's so close to, and knows, deep in his heart, that he can't carry on that mission on Middle-earth he's been sent back for then either.

No, there is no choice to this, but maybe … Maybe that doesn't make it wrong. He has to find out at least, before he says no, but he will not do that in a sterile room with the stench of blood and death and the bitterness of medicine that doesn't work all around.

"I want him out of there. I'm not even _considering_ proposing to someone in a sick bed."

"If the two of you could get to the point without hours of discussion just _once_ , these realms would have less problems."

While Elrond just looks very smug and a tad surprised about the sudden surrender, Thranduil throws his hands up in the air dramatically. "If that's your only problem, general … I have heard whispers that your partner and you happen to be very fond of my bathroom."

He doesn't move one muscle when he hints to that one forbidden, pleasurable night before Erestor's kidnapping.

Glorfindel finds with annoyance that he can learn a thing or two about perfect composure from the King.

Not that Elrond can be fooled by it. "If you spare me the details and promise to not ask too much of him, Glorfindel, that's fine with me."

He pretends to be annoyed for another moment, but then, a very broad grin spreads on his lips, and behind his high forehead, things are already being set into motion before Glorfindel has made one step towards that damn sick room.

"So that's a yes? Do we need to tell the King's tailors and cooks to prepare a feast? I'll be sending message to Rivendell immediately. People there will want to celebrate as well, once we get back. We can wait another few days, I suppose, then Lord Celeborn could join us here at least …"

Glorfindel feels an expression on his own face as if he'd had another sip of that damn herb brew. One reason why Erestor and he never even wanted to talk about this whole thing was the amount of effort and attention, such a bonding would produce.

Thinking about it, maybe this whole fucked up situation could actually mean _one_ advantage.

"Just so we are being very clear here, _if_ we're doing this, then only under one condition."

Elrond looks like someone just burned his favorite beet with healing herbs when Glorfindel is finished talking, but finally he shrugs and leaves to prepare the patient's transport.

Thranduil's definitely mischievous grin on the other hand is slightly unsettling.

Glorfindel is not sure how he feels about the King of Mirkwood of all people having leverage on him from now on.

But in the end, nothing of this counts. All he knows is that he will not let his lover wither right in front of his eyes, whatever it takes.

The natural underground grotto is just as beautiful as last time they've been here.

Erestor has done his best to take in as much breakfast as his sensitive stomach would let him and wordlessly accepted another big sip from the reopened wound on the side of Glorfindel's neck for lunch. Now, he at least doesn't look that white in his face anymore, though it's hard to overlook how baggy his once well-fitted bright tunic looks on his upper body or how often his hand has tightened around Glorfindel's arm, searching for purchase, on the short walk here. The halls were just as empty as the chambers around them as the King is nice enough to spend the night with his son and the Lord in the guest rooms, so at least no has had to watch that, which makes it easier.

There's a strange kind of silence between the rocky walls also, only broken by the bright echo of the swish of water that continuously enters the large pool, being emptied then to the main drainage through many openings on the basin ground.

Glorfindel might not be the King's best friend, but he has to admit that Thranduil has an excellent taste for the finer pleasures. The broad edges of the natural pool are covered in soft sand, more comfortable to lie on than any mattress, so that's where they end up, barefoot, with half open tunics and in an embrace as firm as Erestor's healing thigh and arm allow.

Words keep on failing them, even after many long minutes. Glorfindel has not been able to bring himself so far to tell his lover what this whole thing is about. They have avoided this for so long … Amidst all their constant discussions and disagreements about army and council matters in the valley, this is what they have always been firmly agreed on. That whatever is between them, would have to wait until they go west one day. How can Glorfindel force all this on someone who's almost falling asleep again with his head pillowed on his chest?

In fact Erestor _is_ dozing, as he realizes when he wraps one of his lover's hip-length raven strands of hair around two fingertips. He means to nudge him awake, because he _needs_ to ask if he doesn't want a very angry King and Lord on his doorstep tomorrow.

But that's when Erestor startles, deep lines of distress around his beautiful dark eyes and the corners of his mouth. The fearful expression only vanishes when he blinks at Glorfindel a few times and then turns away in shame about something he has no control over.

Growing anger coiling in his stomach, Glorfindel buries both hands in this beloved silken hair of his and pulls Erestor close for an intimate kiss, more desperate for his touch than ever suddenly. As he does, he opens his mind to his lover in a way, he has done only very seldom with anyone. If he can't say it because he's never been awfully good with words, then maybe a very clear image put in his lover's head will serve as a question. A picture of them intertwined in the most intimate of embraces while their minds as well, are melting into the intent of spending their eternity together from now on.

Erestor pulls back from him abruptly. For a moment, Glorfindel is convinced that he's fucked it up, that Elrond and him are both wrong, that Erestor will tell him to fuck off … Then he identifies the breathless gasp on Erestor's luscious full lips as a chuckle.

"Took you long enough."

Glorfindel considers giving Erestor the smack over his head he deserves, but he decides that he can spend his time better.

It takes them exactly thirty second to get naked, the few layers of clothes they've brought serving as protection from sand in bad places. But then he slows things down deliberately, because Erestor is already trembling all over again, and not only from excitement.

With his hand gently pressed to Erestor's too narrow chest, he pushes him backwards, his brows slightly raised in a plea. Sure, he could have just tied his lover up as he does so often, to get him to go easy on himself, but that's not what this night should be about, no matter how enjoyable it would be for both of them.

Erestor might be weakened from too little sustenance and rest lately, but his blood runs hot as ever, racing under Glorfindel's lips as he places slow kisses from his shoulders down to the flat of his stomach. For the moment, he ignores the growled protest that wants to direct his touch to more sensitive spots. He can almost close his hands all the way around Erestor's waist when he strokes his sides, which is a little alarming. But then again, his lover has never been on the broad-built side; something that his weird inherent medical condition hasn't exactly helped.

But that was never something Glorfindel placed importance in. That is not why he sometimes helps Erestor train when his lover asks him for it, or reluctantly takes him with him on patrols in his ill-fitted armor. It's because Glorfindel _cares_ for that eccentric idiot, ever since they first ran into each other, more than he should, more than it's healthy for either of them, and still it's completely alright.

It simply makes him happy, seeing Erestor enjoy himself, no matter if it is when he can make himself useful in battle from time to time, like his renowned warrior family back then, or if it's thanks to Glorfindel's playful sucking on his Mithril-adorned nipples, a hint of teeth grazing the sensitive pebbled skin providing that small surge of energy from most pleasant pain they both like so much.

For once, Erestor seems content with just letting himself be pampered instead of insisting on returning the favor immediately, of keeping the control. Glorfindel has done his best in the last weeks, to put it through to him that with him, he always has it. He likes to think, by now, Erestor has understood that, and he certainly takes advantage of it, too.

When he's being too fed up with Glorfindel's massaging movements up and down his long legs and the occasional grabbing of his firm behind, he just places his hand on Glorfindel's neck and pushes him downwards, a breathless order coming from his lips between his quiet moans.

It's that kind of dominant confidence even when Erestor's being on the bottom of their game, that goes straight to Glorfindel's cock and draws a want-on moan from his own lips. A sound that vibrates against Erestor's reddened skin when he mouths his long shaft, kisses and licks covering every inch, then his balls and the sensitive spot behind, before wandering back up. By the time, Glorfindel takes him in, Erestor is already reduced to groaning and writhing, pushing up into Glorfindel's readily opened mouth, past the weak barrier of muscle and deeper until Glorfindel's lips are flat against his lower stomach and he swallows around his lover, smelling, relishing in nothing but Erestor's beloved grounded scent.

All too soon, he can feel the fragile form under his supporting hand tremble harder, and not in ecstasy. At least it's only tiredness and not fear once more clouding Erestor's sight when Glorfindel draws back enough to look up at him, provocatively licking off traces of white from his lips. He'd love to continue this all night, but Erestor has to be in a far better shape for that.

So he gladly lets himself be pulled back up and grins against Erestor's lips when his lover kisses him greedily, chasing their mingled taste. In his hand, Glorfindel has already the vial from a pocket of his tunic that he's brought. Erestor's legs fall open for him willingly before he's even opened it, his tongue diving deeply into Glorfindel's mouth, demanding what they're both longing for.

They're good enough of a team with mechanics like this at this point, so it doesn't take more than a few minutes before Erestor thrusts his hips against Glorfindel's deeply probing fingers, arching them in exactly that way that has his most sensitive point angled against his lover's movements. It's almost enough to make Erestor come all over himself before he can get out the order for _more_ , _now_.

Glorfindel is happy to oblige, the worry always stays present even through the fog of lust clouding his mind, though. So instead of covering his lover with his body, he turns on his back, Erestor firmly held against his chest, and slips down the smoothened surface of the rocks into the warmth of the water.

Erestor picks up on the clue quickly enough and grabs Glorfindel's steel hard cock when they're still in motion, sinking onto him even as Glorfindel settles back against the pool wall, with a lapful of needy, wriggling librarian who takes in every inch of him easily until they're flush against each other, in each other's arms as if there's no tomorrow; and maybe there isn't, at least not without each other.

They don't move much, they don't need to. They just let the steady bubbling of the water carry them, and the way, Erestor tightens up helplessly around him again and again when Glorfindel gently tugs on his nipple rings or nibbles on the tip of his ear. Or the occasional grinding of Glorfindel's hips against his lover's when he's trying to get even deeper into him, crawl into him, into his body into his skin, into his _mind_ , just to share the perfection that is this elf, the Valar have sent him.

And then that's exactly what happens, without either of them even having to think about it. It's not necessary, not after they've made their decision earlier. The occasional heated red that Glorfindel can see flicker behind his eyes that is not the one in his own veins, is spreading. It's turning into other colors, into shapes in his mind, into pictures that he knows, at least most of them, from words and books, but not like this.

This time, he sees through Erestor's eyes when they spot each other sitting on the opposite ends of the same table at a King's feast, placed there by accident, really; an accident that would end up defining both their lives. He sees through his lover's eyes, a stupid, too proud, too careless captain of the army, with vainly styled golden curls and a too loud laughter. He feels Erestor's heart going wide and then contract in pain, in the fear that this elf over there will always stay in unreachable distance.

The hurt in his chest is shifting, his turned on panting from their unification in the present turning to a wheezing through a couple of broken rips and the dust of the house that just fell to ruins around him. He can hear the screams of Erestor's brother and parents nearby, their sight mercifully hidden by the rubble. The pain is tearing his heart to pieces as if it was his own, when those noises stop. There's a flare of light in front of his eyes and in his heart when the piece of debris crushing his chest and blocking his sight is rolled away and the strong arms of the very elf who has trained him in all those last years, carry him away from this place of destruction, out of the burning city.

And Glorfindel can feel the darkness crushing his insides, so much more hurtful than any injury, when he has to watch himself from the distance fight a match against a demon he can't win. The loss of centuries being taken from them is ripping through his head with an anguished scream.

The pain is crawling over his own skin now, the Balrog's whip cutting through his armor like bread, burning his flesh alive even while he's mortally wounding his enemy. Judging by the way, Erestor quietly sobs and twitches against his chest, he feels it just as much, the very pain and fear and despair that sharing such a deep connection brings. This is what sharing everything they are and what made them and what brought them together, also means, but the worst is over now. Now there's only the long fall into nothing left, and the only relief that Erestor is not falling with him, that he'll live on, be happy. It's the only light he can see before his body is shattered on the ground.

But there is no real happiness in his lover, no freedom from the tragedy they've escaped, both of them their own way; not until Erestor comes to get Glorfindel in the harbors of Mithlond after he's been sent back, to welcome him into his new life on Middle-earth.

This time, when they see through each other's eyes, it's at the same time. This time, it's the warmth of realization that nothing's changed between them that blooms in their souls, equally strong, until they don't know where the other begins and where they end. Gold and black and silver and blue merging, blending into a new deep purple color of unquestioned love, pulsating through their souls. Connecting them, firmly, until the end of their days or the breaking of the world, just when their bodies find their release in the height of the pleasure that brought them together in the first place.

Everything is as it should be.

When they're done for the moment, lying in each other's arms without any intention to let go anytime soon, Glorfindel hears Erestor laugh again, against his ear or in his head, he can't tell. He doesn't think it makes a difference, either, not anymore.

"So, does that mean we're gonna be celebrating for the next two months straight?"

Glorfindel shakes his head with a grin and tenderly straightens out the mess of hair around Erestor's flushed face. "Everyone who knows about this is sworn to silence. We'll just have to avoid looking into people's eyes for too long from now on."

Erestor stares at him with his mouth hanging open before he chuckles again, in a freed kind of way Glorfindel has never heard and that he might just be falling in love with all over again. "You don't mean to tell them."

"And give them the satisfaction that all those washerwomen and grooms and spying soldiers were right all the time? I don't think so. It's so much more fun to have them guessing, is it not?"

Erestor seems to think he's right, because he kisses him again and bites his lower lip, none too gently, then he pulls him underwater suddenly and kisses him again, reaching down between them once more. They never stop kissing for a moment, until Erestor sinks down on him again and they have to come up for air, the new closeness between them reaching every single cell, every corner of their soul, and Glorfindel has never been happier in his whole life.

Their own private little eternity couldn't have started in any better way.


End file.
